


Daughter of the Morning Star

by Erato_Syne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bucky needs a smack in the mouth then a hug, Darcy Lewis Can't Catch a Break Until She Does, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis Friendship, Jane is a Shitty Friend but she's trying, M/M, Multi, Secret Dad, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve and Bucky are Cranky Assholes, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erato_Syne/pseuds/Erato_Syne
Summary: Darcy Lewis is only really good at three things. Taking care of careless people, cooking, and putting things in order. She is all right at magic. Decently ok at Monopoly and absolute rubbish at the rest of her life.When her best friend and employer lands her dream job at Avengers Tower she doesn't expect to be left behind. She's abandoned out of hand without a job or an apartment she can afford.Super heroes are assholes, the fallen are a lot of fun, and sometimes the bottom is a great place to start.





	1. In the Beginning a Father had a word with his son.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Soullessly Soulmated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322519) by [Pearsforgranite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearsforgranite/pseuds/Pearsforgranite). 

> Whew boy, it's been a few years but here I am. This is an AU, of an AU. Double derivative. I'm spicy like that.
> 
> Inspired by Pearsforgranite's "Soullessly Soulmated". My response to angst is rage, and whelp, this is what you guys get. Updates will go up roughly once a week or so. I have no idea how long this beast is going to be, you're in for a wild ride.
> 
> Trigger warnings for past mentions of child abuse, trauma, and disordered eating.

Before creation was old, a father took his son to a high mountain. 

"They won't understand us, they'll take what the Gods have painted and corrupt it. Let me guide them, father. Let me spare them the heart ache."

The Father looks into the sun as it sets purple, gold and red. His sons words heavy on his heart. "They cannot be whole, unless they learn to love one another. Love another as they love the self." 

"I will give them a guide, then. A morning star to light the way." The wings behind the dark haired man crack and agitate in the new air. His mind has been made. The father despairs. 

"There is a price for such a gift, my son."

"I'll pay it. A thousand times."


	2. Unqualified and Unlucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger for body image issues and fatphobia. 
> 
> Bucky and Steve are not nice, Maria Hill is a mean girl, and Jane basically forgot about her once she was out of sight.

Darcy hasn't been sleeping well. She attributes this to where she's been sleeping. 

When Tony Stark offers you a job, you don't dick around in accepting it. Jane enthusiastically agreed to the position offered in the Avengers Initiative last week. It didn't give them a lot of time to figure out lodging before their apartments were ready in the brand new tower. The prospect of moving across the country to a city Jane had never been to and a job she was intimidated by didn't make her great company. 

Before Jane could have a complete meltdown Darcy took care of the issue. It's causing her a lot of personal discomfort and pain, but she's better at dealing with that stuff than Jane is. It's fine.

They moved into her grandmother's three story townhouse on the Upper East Side of New York three days ago. The place astonished Jane. Darcy tried not to squirm over her boss's reaction to the space when they arrived last week. The furniture was covered in white sheets and all of the mirrors were draped with black cloth. It felt haunted and hollow. Just like her.

But her best friend was fascinated by it. The furniture, wallpaper, and flooring were all original from the turn of the century. The three-bedroom apartment was kitty-corner to the Met and Central Park. Darcy spent after school doing homework in the Met's cafeteria or sitting on The Great Lawn to read in summer. Jane thinks it all sounds charming and privileged. 

She doesn't know about what went on in the house, though. Why she hid in Central Part crowds and wondered cold marble halls in the Met rather than go home. The adults in her life told her she was nothing and her soulmarks proved it.

Darcy is uncomfortable, but she doesn't explain herself and in true fashion, Jane doesn't pry. It's a blessing and a curse. The astrophysicist left well enough alone when Darcy shut down conversation about her soulmarks, but she's never been there for Darcy when her anxiety got her real low.

She deals with it, though. It's better now, she tells herself. She can cook whatever she wants in the giant, airy kitchen, and she can sleep in as long as she likes. Ghosts visit her at night, some real and some made of memory, but a handful of sea salt around her bed keeps the worst of it away.

The inheritance would probably be a blessing to most people her age but like every gift she's ever received from her grandmother, it feels more like a burden. 

She can sell it, but her grandmother's will stipulates that to do so she would be required to give half of the proceeds to the church her grandmother attended in life. Tabernacle of Christ. 

After growing up under its oppressive shadow her entire young life, Darcy would rather keep the apartment and pay the exorbitant taxes than give those hateful fuckers a cent. Most of her paychecks, now that's she being paid at all, have gone into a savings account to keep up on the taxes. The job at the tower is going to be crucial to her maintaining the place. 

She can see Avengers tower from the third floor of the townhouse. It looks foreboding. There's a tightness to her chest when she stares too long at it. Hopefully, that's just nerves and not something else. Her tarot cards are sitting out in the open on her dresser. There's no need to hide them anymore. It wouldn't be hard to pull three cards and get a sense of what the next week was going to bring. 

Every day she looks at the cards and tells herself she'll do the reading that night. Despite her sleepless hours before their meeting, she didn't touch them. She's a coward, she knows. 

Darcy got up two hours before their eight am meeting at Avengers Tower to cook her boss breakfast. The night before, she folded and set the woman's clothing on her dresser. Her satchel is packed and waiting on the dining table. 

Despite her best efforts, it's ten minutes to nine and Jane is stomping around her bedroom looking for a clean pair of panties. 

"Top drawer, under the nine pairs of socks you never wear." Darcy's voice carries to the first-floor guest room. 

A few minutes later her boss stumbles out of the bedroom and grabs a point of toast from the full English breakfast Darcy prepared for her. She sighs. It's gone cold anyway.

"You're wearing that?" She asks Darcy around a bite of room temperature toast. The petite woman in front of her is dressed in a sharp business casual blouse and slacks. A fit and flare wool coat accents the black and white outfit perfectly. Darcy picked out something simple but elegant, then again Jane could make a grocery bag look elegant with her long lean figure. 

"Yes. I'm not really expecting to impress anyone, Jane." Darcy pulls on an oversized pea-green coat. Her untamable hair is shoved under a mottled brown beanie she knitted the week before and her squishy weird body has been likewise forced into a faded purple skater dress. The stockings and chunky black work boots complement the ensemble and make it seem more intentional than it is.

Everything is covered and hidden. The two hateful, cruel smarks circle her upper right thigh, and left bicep. Even in New Mexico, she wouldn't go without long sleeves and leggings. She's ashamed of her words, and the skin they are etched on. 

The conversation she'd rather not have is delayed for the moment by Jane's phone. A posh English voice informs them both that there is a car waiting for them on the curb.

"Should we be concerned that the AI is already on my phone?" Darcy shrugs and adjusts her beanie once more for good measure. Her hand drifts to the pendant around her neck, and she grips the clear cold stone for strength.

"Ready?" Darcy asks, brightly.

"No. God, I'm really not." 

...  
"This is overwhelming." Jane voices what Darcy feels. The morning has been a blur. There was a snafu with security in the lobby, and Jane had to wave around her credentials to get Darcy into the elevator reserved for the upper floors. 

When they arrive there's no one but that disembodied voice to great them. He introduces himself as JARVIS and it relaxes her somewhat. A nameless, faceless voice echoing from nothing reminds her too much of the unpleasant things that sometimes pass through her room at night.

He directs them to the common area. It's an entire floor that's surrounded by clear glass on two sides of the building. The effect is a little dizzying. It feels like they are suspended in air, above the rest of the city. While Jane paces, Darcy takes a moment to step to the window and look down across Central Park. Her grandmothers home looks so small from here. Everything and everyone looks small from this high.

Voices she's only heard on television filter into the room. Bruce Banner and Tony Stark. Jane rushes to them, introducing herself like a toddler showing off its favorite stuffed animal. The three of them are across the room from her, they close ranks and she feels a sudden stab of isolation. A pressure behind her eyes makes her wince and she tries to will it away.

Please. Not now, please. She begs the thing inside of her. It never listens.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Foster. I'm looking forward to working with you. I believe our disciplines intersect in-" Bruce, speaks. Polite and awkwardly focused. "Boring. Save the academic pleasantries. We've got all the toys here, Foster. Let's get started with the lab tour. I need to get your retina and biometric imprint scanned before we can show you to your quarters. Well, Thor's quarters. He was insistent you two share a love nest." The petite scientist looks a little overwhelmed. Instead of answering Tony she turns to Darcy, acknowledging her for the first time since the two Avengers entred the room.

"Did you hear that? Hopefully, your place will be down the hall." Darcy didn't move. Her knees felt stiff and her palms began to sweat. The sensation of being jagged and wrong wouldn't leave her. 

"Who the hell is this? Does she want an auto-graph or something?" Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and looked her over. It was brief. He seemed to read her in an instant and dismissed her just as fast. 

"I'm Jane's assistant." Her voice felt thick and heavy. A tingling sharpness was starting at the base of her spine. She hated this. Darcy crossed the ten feet from the window to the group of scientists and it felt like crawling on glass. "I assumed-"

"You hired her!" Jane exclaimed. Throwing her hands up in one of her pseudo tantrums. 

"No. I'm pretty hands-off when it comes to HR, but there's no way in hell I'd offer a position like this to a civilian undergrad." Confusion and annoyance washed over her. It wasn't hers. 

"Dr. Foster, you were hired, this girl was not." The voice came from behind Darcy. Sharp heels in a sure step pierced the marble floor as a tall, graceful brunette entered the room. "Maria Hill, SI Security. I vetted your credentials for your visit today. The guard in the lobby just informed me you brought this-" Hill turned slightly and for the second time that day she felt weighed and found wanting. Mostly weighed. Maria Hill emitted the familiar disgust of a beautiful woman looking down at a frumpy one. She was pretty used to it. "intern."

"She's been on my payroll for a year!" Jane's face was getting red. It seemed to alarm Banner just a tad. Darcy thought that maybe he wasn't so great at dealing with emotional outbursts, seeing as he was always trying to control his own. 

"You know- if you'd bothered to read the contract you might have noticed that the girl wasn't mentioned."

"Darcy." A beat of silence stretches and somehow, she finds the strength to speak again. "Darcy Lewis."

"And what do you do for Dr. Foster, Darcy Lewis?" Maria asked, naked impatience in her tone.

"I-" Banner shoots Darcy a sympathetic look and tries to bolster her with a smile. It kind of works. "I transcribe her notes, cook meals for the both of us, tidy up the lab and run general Project Management for Jane."

"See, I need her! I can't function without her basically." It's not untrue, but that heavy feeling won't go away. It finally breaks inside of her, her resolve shattering and she can feel them all.

The palpable disgust from Hill, the pity from Banner, and the annoyance from Tony. She's usually good at blocking out Jane's emotions, but her guard is down and now it feels like they all took turns dumping ice water down her back.

"JARVIS can do all of that. Except for cook. We're still trying to figure that out." Tony rocks back on her heels, filling with impatient energy. The worst part of this is he isn't even mad, he's just inconvenienced and she can feel his attention shift.

"But-" Hill turns to Darcy. "This is a restricted access floor. You are not employed by Stark Industries, part of the Avengers Initiative, or a soul mate of the above. I'm going to see you out now, Miss. Lewis."

"Hey, you can't just kick her out." Darcy can feel Jane gearing up to destroy her chances at a place here. Sure, she is Thor's soul mate, Tony can't kick her out, but he could very easily decide she's too much of a liability to employ and Jane would be crushed.

"Jane, it's ok." Darcy tries to smile, it's not genuine at all, but she doesn't think Jane notices. "We can still see each other on weekends and I live nearby. It will be fine."

"But-" Tony claps his hands together. "Problem solved! Tell you what, Lewis, Hill will find you a position at SI. Something low level, so you and Foster can meet on your lunch breaks."

"I'll see you later tonight?" Jane says, weakly. All of her fight has left her. Darcy knew she didn't want to endanger her position, but she was fighting on Darcy's behalf for the sake of their friendship. It was better that she just decide for her. When you can feel other peoples emotions, there's a responsibility to cater to them. 

"Yeah. I'll make that disgusting goulash you love so much." Jane hugged her, surprisingly strong for such a svelte little thing and then with a nod she went off with Stark. Who didn't even bother to look at her before he started off on his spheel about the lab. Bruce gave her a smile. There was a kind of understanding in his eyes that didn't make her feel better.

"Come on, Miss. Lewis. I have fifteen minutes before my next meeting and I have some papers for you to sign." 

She walked brusquely, her long strides quick. Darcy had to half jog to keep up with her. She got the feeling the woman was doing it on purpose. By the time they got to her office she was a little out of breath. Her coat was heavy enough for the early October air outside, but now she was sweating. 

"I think we have something for you in the mailroom," Maria mentioned, offhandedly. If Darcy couldn't feel her emotions she might suspect the woman was ambivalent about her. But that loathing up-ticked when her eyes fell on Darcy. Breathe heaving, beanie falling off her matte slick hair.

Darcy frowned. She knew her qualifications were slim, but she'd done real Project Management work for Jane. It was the kind of experience most corporations could find some use for. "The mailroom? You don't think-"

"Mr. Stark did not stipulate you get a good job, Miss Lewis. As this is strictly a favor for the woman we actually hired."

Darcy was so flushed with the woman's distaste for her that she found herself unable to respond.

"But there is the matter of the physical you'll need to pass."

"I'm sorry, what?" That sounded ludicrous. 

"The Avengers Initiative, and to a lesser extent, SI is the target of several high level domestic and international terrorist groups. All employees must pass a rigorous physical examination. You'll need to demonstrate basic hand to hand combat, aerobic fitness, and agility. We'll start the test in an hour when I have the time to score your abilities."

The only class Darcy had ever failed was 10th grade gym. Running was out of the question thanks to her miserably large bust. She had never been particularly physically active. There was no way she was going to pass the test.

"I don't think I can pass a test like that right now."

For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Maria Hill smiled. It was a hateful and thin thing.

"Then I am afraid we cannot hire you on grounds of your physical limitations."

...

Bucky was off the jet before it could settle in the landing bay. Nat was at the helm. She'd backed off and given him and Steve some space after the godawful mission. 

His soulmate wasn't having it though. Steve's passion was attractive, but it was arguably one of his worst qualities too. He couldn't stop picking at things. They always had to reach a resolution and Bucky was too damn tired to talk about it. 

"Buck!" He jogged down the ramp after him. They were both in their body armor. Bucky's blue and black, an echo of his old wartime fatigues. Steve's cowl had been tossed off not long after boarding the jet, and he had a deep red gash in his chest. A few inches off from the silver star on his chest.

"She fucking stabbed you!" He wheeled around, metal fist clenching as he met his soulmate's eyes. "I leave you for a fucking hour and the mark has you believing that bullshit about your words. Jesus Christ, Steve!"

He looks contrite. The blond runs a hand through his hair. It's matted in dirt and some blood that isn't his own. Bucky wonders if they'll ever stop washing other peoples blood off their hands. There's no comfort knowing no one's waiting for them at home. He's made so much progress, but now? He doesn't see a point. For any of it.

"She was so earnest. I thought, maybe-" He trails off, working at the strap of his fingerless glove. "That maybe she wasn't a HYDRA sleeper agent who managed to dig your soul words out of the SHIELD data Nat dumped on the internet last year? Fuck, Steve, she could have found them on Tumblr."

Bucky wants to find their third as badly as Steve does, but he's tired of his soul mate putting them both in danger because of that vain hope. God, he misses having a woman in their bed, but he's not fucking distracted by it.

His soulmate touches the healed wound on his chest. So close to his heart. Too fucking close. 

"It won't happen again." There's steel in his lover's eyes. It soothes him, somewhat. He wants to kiss him, but they don't do that in public.

...

Maria Hill leaves her to find her own way out. The AI, JARVIS is helpful and he guides her towards the elevators. So far, he's the kindest person she's met at the tower. And he's not even a person.

The elevator pings and the doors glide open. She nearly runs into two giant masses. Darcy back peddles and snaps her head up. Captain America and Bucky Barnes. It was one thing to interact with Stark out of his suit and Banner sans the green, but the two men in front of her were decked out in their heroing clothes.

Her brain went a little fuzzy, and her mouth went off without her consent. Later, she would blame it on the emotions swirling around each man like toxic rain. Anger. Betrayal. Frustration. Despair. She just wanted to say something nice.

"Hi! Captain America, nice to meet you. I mean Steve. You probably would rather go by Steve, right?" Darcy reached out to him, deciding to introduce herself to the blond first. 

His reaction made her stomach drop like a stone. She felt it first. Hatred. Disgust. Indignation. Frustration. Violence. She froze, but before she could process it Steve Rogers grabbed her wrist and sidestepped. Shoving her into the elevator so hard she had to brace against the far wall to keep her head from smacking into it. 

"Сумасшедшая сука." The dark-haired man said. His words sounded like venom, it dripped into her skin. They were her words. The Russian she had translated her freshman year of high school, circling like a shackle on her bicep. 

Darcy turns, the emotions coming off of him were ugly and foul. The sheer force of both men's ire cowed her and if she died right then it would be a mercy. Everything her grandmother said was true. They wouldn't want her. She was worthless. Something was wrong with her, her core was rotten.

"You have to be shitting me, lady." Steve Rogers said, slamming the elevators call button as he and Barnes stepped out. The same words that wound around her thigh. 

"JARVIS, get her the hell out of my sight." The doors slammed shut and Darcy finally lost control of her body. Her knees buckle, and she slipped down the back of the elevator. Crumpling into a mass of tears.

...

"What the hell was that about?" Steve turned in time to see Barton dropping down from a ceiling vent. He landed with a crouch beside Bucky and leveled his gaze at the ex-assassin. 

"One of his stalkers managed to get into the building. I need to have a word with Hill. This is getting old." Barnes voice was cold. He sounded every bit the soldier he'd been when they brought him from HYDRAs control. 

Barton looked at him and Steve felt ten inches tall. "So we're manhandling civilians now? You could have broken her arm, Rogers!"

That was excessive force. He could have hurt her. His anger cooled into the despair that had been brewing earlier and he thought about turning around and making sure the girl was ok.

Bucky seemed to read his mind because he grabbed at Steve's arm with his metal hand. "Don't fucking do it. We're done with attention-seeking whores."

Clint clenched his jaw and walked away, shoulder checking Bucky as he went. 

"He already doesn't like you," Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I don't like me very much right now. Let's shower and try to cook something edible this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was actually difficult to write. Sorry, it's still going to get a bit worse for our girl.


	3. Old Lady Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyes are eaten, Avengers are dispatched and Darcy Lewis was lied to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un'Beta'd. Sorry. When I'm finished with the whole thing I'll probably go back to edit and omit all of the shitty parts.

The borough of Staten island houses three coroner's offices. The dead passed through like blood running in a still living vein.

The doctor was on hour nine of a twelve-hour shift. He's just finished eating his lunch over the bullet-riddled chest cavity of a young man. Dr. Seymor was getting close to retirement and he planned to leave his profession as he entered it. Apathetically. 

He recorded the cause of death, weight, blood toxicity and the deceased's personal possessions with the same banality he used to arrange his stamp collection.

_Male. Caucasian. Seventeen years of age._

There were ninety-eight bodies in the coolers and on the exam tables around him. The freshest of which was his next task before he could leave for the evening. It was a female. Ethnicity unknown. Age unknown. Apparent suicide.

He shoves the remains of the young man's organs back into his chest with the delicacy of a trash collector, then turns to the new body.

It's gone.

He takes off his glasses, wipes them on his button-up and then places them on his nose once more. The body remains missing. 

Behind him, the door of one of the cadaver coolers opens. It creaks out slow after a click. He feels as though something is watching him from the direction of the sound. In thirty-eight years, he's never once seen anything strange or uncanny. 

And he never will.

Before the man can run, or turn his head, the cranial saw clicks on. It's the last sound he hears as the Suicide Girl clips the tip of his skull clean off. The man crumples into a heap of so much organs and bloodied jelly before the naked figure crouches down and pulls at his fresh dead eyes.

They are her favorite part.

...

When she gets back to the townhouse Darcy falls onto her couch. JARVIS held the elevator for her long enough for the girl to get her bearings. Somehow she stumbled home, but she doesn't really remember how she did it. 

It's a long to the other end of Central Park. Her feet ache and she lost her beanie somewhere. 

It's just settling into dusk when she falls onto the couch. The living room is a cavernous space on the street facing side of the townhouse. The windows are large and covered by ivory drapes that, when drawn, keep the daylight out completely. 

Her eyes are red-rimmed and her heartbreak manifests as physical pain in the center of her chest. She didn't bother removing her coat or shoes. She just lays on her back, the oppressive memories of the last six hours running on a loop in her brain.

She grips a little charm in her hand. It hangs from a long gold chain and looks like a crystallized soap bubble. The beautiful hollow globe has a pink and purple fire when it catches the sunlight.

Darcy's grandmother, Eleanor Lewis, said that it had belonged to her mother. It was the only thing she'd ever given her that Darcy couldn't part with. Like all of the other 'comforts' Eleanor gave Darcy, it could be taken away on a whim. Although it never was. Even when she'd stripped Darcy's bed, she removed all of her books, journals, and clothing from her room the summer of her fifteenth birthday. She left her in the silent room with her mother's necklace and an old nightgown.

It was a punishment, for something. Like most of the discipline her grandmother delivered, Darcy forgot about what she'd done to earn it. The only thing that remained was whatever torture she'd spun up for Darcy's personal failings.

It was heavy in her hand. That's how she knew it was magic. The little charm weighed much more than a glass an empty sphere should weigh. It seemed to make her feel heavier, too. Darcy wonders if it contains a piece of her mother's spirit. If so, she's never once comforted her daughter in ethereal form. And she had needed comfort a lot.

She needed it now.

Her grandmother's prediction that her soulmates would despise her made everything else she'd said seem true. 

That Darcy was unnatural and fundamentally dark natured. There was nothing she could do to please the woman. Her grades, her impeccably neat room, even her manners were called out as a smokescreen for diabolical urges. When she was good, she was a liar. When she was bad, she was a demon.

Why did fate pair her with two men who were so far above her? They were like angels, untouchable and perfect. Her aunt Hilda had called her 'Toad' when she was a young girl and the nickname stuck within the family. 

She was a scaley, slimy, disgusting creature and her two soulmates were strong and beautiful. 

Night crept into the empty house and Darcy fell asleep. Her dreams were filled with fire and ash, like usual. 

The gilded clock on the white marble mantel struck three am and chimed six, six, six. 

Her eyes opened to darkness.

No. It was more than darkness. The room was covered in shadow but the shape that leered down at her was a person-shaped black hole. She wanted to scream, but her chest was too heavy. It felt like something was sitting on top of her, pressing her body into the couch and immobilizing it.

Moments passed, while Darcy and the spirit stared at one another. She'd seen these things before, but never this close. They hovered around the mass graves she visited in Poland while traveling the lecture circuit with Jane. She saw them in an old Scottish castle, and sometimes flickering in and out on All Hallows Eve.

Since she'd escaped her grandmother she tried to embrace the strange powers she'd been taught to fear. There were witches in the world, she'd found out in college. Although the thought of a community of women that welcomed and nurtured her was appealing, all those hopes were shattered when she attempted to join a coven. 

She wasn't like them, they'd said. Not a witch, and certainly not welcome. 

Darcy lacked the education and the resources to figure out what the thing above her was, and that made it even more terrifying. 

Her jaw worked to speak or scream. Even if there was no one living to hear it. But the creature had stolen her voice.

Then, it backed away and Darcy sat bolt upright, facing the form as it moved to the mantelpiece. Her breath came out like smoke, as the spirit dropped the temperature in the room enough to make her teeth chatter.

It hovered near the clock and then reached out a sinewy, oil spill arm inside the chimney, directly below where the clock sat.

Something clicked and moved in the darkness then a loud BANG filled the room as a metal object fell onto the floor of the inner brick chimney. 

The sound knocked the room back into reality. She heard cars and shouts outside. Life teaming in the streets, even at three fifteen in the morning.

Exhausted, but thankful for the distraction, she got up and turned on the light. The chandelier above her spread a thousand points of golden light and it made the room feel warmer.

She shrugged off her coat and got down on her knees, then reached into the chimney's mouth. 

Darcy took the object and went back to the couch, setting the dusty metal box on the coffee table. It looked like a safety deposit box, but it was roughly twice the size of a shoebox. There was a latch for a lock but it didn't have one.

She should shower, put on her pajamas and go to bed. Without an income, she couldn't afford to pay the taxes on the townhouse. She'd lose it and truly have nothing to show for her life suffering inside of it. She had several thousand dollars saved, but the property value was astronomical and she knew that it was going to take two full-time jobs to make it. 

The spirit wanted to tell her something, though. She knew this was one of Eleanor Lewis's secrets. Before she died, her grandmother burned a large pile of papers in the back yard. She only knows this because there's a black charred space on the brick patio. The woman didn't want to leave any loose ends, and she'd said herself that she made sure Darcy would never know her birth parents.

The box was tantalizing. She'd worry about her financial problems tomorrow. Now, she wanted to learn a little bit about what her grandmother had hidden from her.

It felt good to open the box and pull out the stack of papers. It was forbidden and it would have infuriated her grandmother. As Darcy shuffled through the letters, she relished the feeling.

...

A few hours before Darcy was visited by her spirit, the Avengers were called in to save a small chunk of Great Brittain from exploding.

It was one mission after another lately. They were all feeling it, even Thor, who was generally unflappable when there was fighting to do. 

Tony tried to nap in one of the bunks on the jet. He made a note to add a memory foam topper to them as she tossed onto his side for the fifth time. Barton was doing a shit job of flying above the extremely turbulent Atlantic Ocean. 

Barnes and Rogers were sitting next to one another, the blond dozing on the shoulder of the brunette. They were exhausted. The soldiers came in off a three-week mission and were pulled out on another less than eight hours later. 

Tony gave up on sleeping all together after another rough bump and decided to distract himself with the puzzle he'd been putting together recently.

HYDRA was weakened and licking their wounds, AIM was basically wiped off the planet thanks to Romanov's efficiency, and Loki was still sitting pretty in an Asgardian jail cell.

None of the big players were behind the six-month streak of death and chaos he and his teammates were constantly sweeping up.

They were usually too late. A little isolated village or settlement would send out a distress signal, authorities would scramble, but by the time they got there, the place was in flames. It didn't matter where, though. Albania to Albany. Fury was doing a good job keeping it out of the papers, but the attacks were increasing in frequency. 

Sometimes they would catch the action, but the source eluded him. At first glance, it looked like a bunch of locals starting their own houses on fire, murdering their own families. 

Last month he and Barton made it to a little town in Norway in time to fight off some nuns. Fucking nuns, who were trying to stab the orphan children they were caring for. 

These weren't difficult fights, but they were the most demoralizing any of them had ever experienced. Steve tried to incapacitate when he could, but the seemingly normal schmucks wouldn't stay down. At least with the Chitari they were fighting an enemy. 

"It's the churches."

Tony turned his head, he had maps of the last three towns pulled up and he was looking for some common thread. A way for a biological agent to get into the drinking water or air. Although he never found when after the fact.

"Not a bad theory. I'd feel like shoving an ice pick in the next guy's eye socket if my only source of amusement was sitting in a scratchy suit and getting berated by a fifty year old virgin."

"You weren't raised religious, I take it." Nat settles next to his bunk, her knees drawn up to her chest, flicking through the same data he was .

"Mass twice a year, and after I figured out God wasn't real, I skipped out on it altogether." He remembers his mother's rosary. She was deeply Catholic. They went to a Spanish speaking church that his dad didn't have time to attend. Those are memories he misses with a sudden sharp tug to the spot his ARC reactor sits.

"Russian Orthodox. It was illegal, but rural people don't easily give up their saints." She sounds bored, but Tony's known her long enough to read the truth in her lies. This is getting to her, the same way it's getting to them all. 

"Do you have a patron saint, Romanov?"

She smiles and looks over to Barton where he's sitting in the cockpit. 

"St Julian."

Tony hums. "The patron saint of murderers?"

"Repentant, murderers."

...

It's a box of letters. Twenty-three years worth of letters. The first one is dated three weeks after she was born.

They are all postmarked from a church in Boston and signed by a priest called Father Gregory.

After she's read a few letters, her stomach turns sour. They are about her. He addressed her as 'the creature' in the first few letters but her grandmother must have told him the name she picked out eventually. 

He writes once a month, asking for updates on the young child. She doesn't know what her grandmother told him, exactly. She can piece it together, though.

The drapes caught fire one week. Three months later the nanny Eleanor hired to care for her during the early mornings quite unexpectedly. She sighted personal reasons and reportedly got a job at a strip club not long after.

It sounds like Rosemary's baby level shit.

Eleanor Lewis is not her grandmother. She's never been married, and she has no children. The woman who raised her was a family doctor in Connecticut before acquiring Darcy.

Her lies snowball from there. There's no family history to the townhouse, Darcy's 'aunts' are members of the Tabernacle of Christ. They pretend to be relatives, creating false histories so they can sell Darcy a bigger story.

About her drug addict mother. Her lazy and absent father. They claimed to know her parents and they made up terrible stories about them.

But none of it was true. 

Darcy turns five years old in the letters when Father Gregory insists that they find a way to weaken the child. He never speculates as to what she is, but it seems as though they are constantly scheming about her, planning their manipulations.

Her powers are too strong, and something must be done.

Her fingers find the necklace she's worn every day since her sixth birthday. The one connection she thought she had the mother she never knew. 

It's called an Abaddon Tear. It's a shackle for the worst of the worst. Eleanor made a devil's bargain with a local coven of witches to trap a part of Darcy's soul inside of it, thereby weakening her. 

She screams. All the pain and sadness and loneliness finally boiling over into something else entirely. The necklace flies across the room as she rips it off. It lands on top of a pile of the white linen sheets she pulled off the furniture three days ago.

The box of letters are next. She doesn't want to read anymore, it's all bullshit. They lied to her, they tortured her, they abused her.

Darcy spends an hour walking through the house and upturning the crosses. There are dozens of them. Plain wooden sticks and gilded icons. Each one, she pulls from it's place, turns upside down and puts it back up.

The last cross sits above Eleanor Lewis's bed. Her bedroom is on the second floor. It's a master suite with an attached bathroom and walk-in closet. The luxurious claw foot tub was off-limits to her, she couldn't touch the jewelry her grandmother wore to church or charity functions. 

She replaces that cross, a heavy thing made of solid silver and she walks to the windows. Flinging open the drapes and letting the bright sun stream inside.

Darcy Lewis is going to take a bath. That's a good start, to the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to write a chapter a week, but this thing just keeps coming out of me. It's probably because I really want to get to the part where Darcy kicks ass.


	4. Alms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dinner is prepared and our girl has finally had enough.

She's too busy to miss Darcy. At first. 

It takes four days to get the lab set up and working safely despite the AI's assistance. He's not a hindrance but he doesn't understand where things need to go. His well-meaning assistance keeps setting her back.

The first major catastrophe is the spectrometer. 

She can't use a ready-made unit like a University might. Tony and Bruce don't dabble in physics so there was no need for them to build one before she came to the tower. For all of his fancy, state of the art tech and holograph displays, Starks lab lacks the basic necessities to further her research.

But she does have space, and that allows her to push the limits of what she's built before. At first, it seems like it's going to be a triumph. Her set up is six times bigger than the array at MIT. As far as she knows, there's nothing like it anywhere on the planet. Although, no one is doing the kind of time-space warping work she's pioneering.

It was science fiction until she proved it wasn't.

The spectrometer isn't that hard to put together. She's been making her equipment for years. Going without the proper funding has made her resourceful. The machine doesn't prove to be a problem until she tries to power it on.

JARVIS tries to follow her instructions. She needs the power supply to throttle up, and down in a specific sequence. Unfortunately, she's the only one who knows what sequence will be while she's neck-deep in the machine's guts.

Darcy was always good at this part. She was good at all the parts if she's honest. 

The multiple failures and fires her home-brewed spectrometer is causing discourage Jane nightly. Thor isn't even there for the first three days. He had to take off right away when she arrived for a mission in Norway. 

When he got back he visited her in the lab and kept her company, but he seemed to be distracted and troubled. The mission was hard on him. On all of them. They'd gotten there too late and spent most of their time retrieving bodies. 

"Stark thinks he can stop this. That it's human avarice or ambition to blame." His voice is rough against the crown of her head. He put his foot down and made her take a break. He's settled them both on the couch at the back of the lab.

"You don't think it's straightforward, do you?" Jane takes his caloused hand and laces her fingers through it.

"I do not think the thing is of Midgard, and I doubt can fight it in the usual way." She turns and cranes her neck up to look at him. His soul mark peeks out the neck of his t-shirt. It's white with a cartoon replica of Mjolnir that Darcy embroidered for him by hand. 

_Jane realizes that she hasn't told him._

"What do you mean?" He looks troubled but doesn't answer right away.

"I'm not quite sure yet." He pauses and looks around the lab for Darcy. "Where is Lady Darcy? I have not seen her by your side. Is she ill?"

Jane goes pink. Every day that passes she feels a little more guilt. When the chips were down she let Darcy go. Jane had a lot of time to think on her hands, and the longer she thought about what happened with Stark, the worse she felt.

"Something happened..."

Lightning strikes the tower and blows the arc reactor powering the building after she tells him the story. Then he kisses her and quietly excuses himself. 

There's a fight in Tony's penthouse that lasts the better part of an hour. Jane decides to pack it away and meets Thor at home. He's livid, not at Jane though she knows he should be, he has some choice words to say about Maria Hill in Asgardian that Jane doesn't understand. 

Three days pass and Jane makes an effort to text Darcy more. She's trying to be better, but one problem after another forces her to ignore her phone. She's tired, she's hungry, and she's frustrated. With her uncooperative equipment, and with herself. 

Her stomach grumbles, alerting her to the fact that she hasn't eaten all day. Usually, that was something Darcy just took care of. But she's been on her own for most meals. 

The communal kitchen is stocked with fresh produce and meat. There are yogurt and snacks. Every kitchen gadget Jane's ever heard of and a lot she hasn't. But no one uses it. Super Soldiers, master spies and genius billionaires all share one thing in common. Not a single one of them can cook an edible meal. 

Stark can't find a personal chef he can keep. None of the celebrity cooks want to accept a seven day a week job that requires them to live in residence. Up and comers are too easily bought out and bribed by one of the Avengers many enemies. Clint had to have his stomach pumped last month because their last cook tried to poison his protein shakes.

The prospect of another greasy take out meal makes her stomach flip. It's close to noon when she finally calls Darcy. Nearly a week since she moved into the tower.

...

For a couple of days, the depression paralyzes her. The power of her rage that first night cools by the following morning. 

She doesn't shower for, barely eats. The house is big and suffocating. Sounds of the city outside of her door are muffled and distant. She walks through the house touching the upturned furniture and paces from end to end. It feels a lot like sleepwalking, but she hasn't slept more than a few hours at a time.

When her phone rings, Darcy is standing on the landing. Staring down into the foyer. There's a crystal cut glass window above the door that catches sunlight and breaks it up into starbursts. When she was little, she liked to lay on the thick carpet in front of the door and pretend the light was fro heaven. Sometimes she manipulated the shapes and drew them up into the air above her. Playing with the light like colored glass.

One day when she was four her grandmother caught her. She locked her in a closet without lunch or dinner and didn't let her out until the next day. When she went back to the window she saw that Eleanor covered it in black cloth. One of the first things she did when she and Jane moved in ripped that faded black fabric off. 

The sunlight pours in just right, reminding her of that day she drew hearts and diamonds in the air. It knocks something loose inside of her.

Her phone is sitting on the kitchen counter. She fumbles with it when she sees that it's Jane calling. A well of relief and answering sadness press against her heart when she answers.

"Hey, Janey."

"Darcy! I'm sorry I haven't called. JARVIS set my new spectrometer on fire and then Thor struck the tower with lightning and I tried to make your blueberry pancakes this morning but I burned them. Thor misses you, I miss you."

"I miss you too. You sound like you haven't slept. Did you eat anything other burned pancakes today?"

"I didn't eat the pancakes. I'll probably order pizza or something."

Darcy frowns, and rubs her palm against her forehead, adjusting her smudged glasses. Her frames are thick and black. "Jane. When was the last time you ate a vegetable?"

"Do french fries count?"

"God damnit, Jane." Darcy sounds tired. She's hungry herself but hunger is familiar. It's a friend, of sorts. 

"This place feels like a tomb." Darcy can hear the strain in Jane's voice. She can imagine her sitting in that big cold lab alone. Surrounded by wires and burnt circuit boards.

"I can make you something."

"Can you!? I bet Thor can come grab you, you can come see our place and-"

"No!" She didn't mean to shout, but her pulse jumps. Steve's face and his horrible, jagged feelings parade across her mind. She can't stop thinking about the way her soulmates unabashedly despised her. The bruise he left on her wrist hasn't healed yet. It's somewhat explainable. His soulwords were leaked after SHIELD collapsed but she never bothered looking them up herself. 

"No, Jane, I don't want to go there." There's silence and she can picture the way her friend's face looks when she's really concerned. "Ok. I can ask someone to meet you in the lobby and you can send it up. Or I can come there."

The fatigue in her voice makes up Darcy's mind. "Naw. Why don't I put my headphones on and you can science babble at me while I make dinner?"

"Oh god, I'd love that. I miss talking to you, getting it all out." 

"I figured. How does lasagna sound? I'll make the sauce from scratch and I can make some garlic bead to go with it."

"You're an angel."

...

Darcy enters the lobby of Avengers Tower with her arms full of home-cooked food. There are three loaves of garlic bread and two hot dishes of lasagna. She made a giant caesar salad, too, and added a note demanding that Jane have a serving of something green before she eats an entire loaf of garlic bread. 

It's all made from scratch. The tomato sauce, the bread, even the caesar dressing. She can't afford to make meals like this for Jane very often now that she doesn't have a job, but it felt good to ease some of the anxiety she sensed in her friend over the phone.

They talked for hours. Well, Jane talked, and Darcy cooked. It almost felt like they were living together again. The astrophysicist used to sit at their kitchen table in London and talk about her latest findings while Darcy got dinner on.

It was almost perfect and it made her sadness heavier. Finding out the truth about her past and her 'grandmother' didn't relieve her of a burden. She hasn't worn the necklace since that night but she can still feel it's shadow. It can probably be broken but she's too afraid of what will happen if she does. Maybe she is something dark and unnatural? 

Her thoughts are muddled and black as she waits in the lobby. It's past eight pm and most of the people who work in the shops and offices have gone home. The stillness of a place that's usually so packed is eerie. The tightness returned to her chest. That same feeling of wrongness from the last time she was here. 

Darcy is just getting a handle on herself when the elevator doors open. All of her hard-won calm is destroyed when she sees Steve Rogers step from the doorway and level her with an ice-cold glare.

His long legs eat up the distance between them. When he steps into her proximity his bulk and height dwarf her. She's never felt so small and ugly. His emotions prick and pull at her skin. She might throw up.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is as hard and sharp as his eyes. Up close he's gorgeous. There's a recessed light in the ceiling that backlights his short cropped golden hair. He looks like an avenging angel.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

That must be the voice he uses on bad guys. Like he knows there's something wrong inside of her. 

"Jane asked me to make her dinner." This feels worse than Sunday service at the Tabernacle of Christ. When they forced her to sit in a cold room and shouted readings from the Bible at her. Trying to pull the devil from her body. At least then, she could retreat into her mind.

"I highly doubt that. Turn around and leave the property. I'll be notifying Miss. Hill. The next time you step foot in this building-"

"Hey, chow's here!" Clint saunters from the right and wraps an arm around Darcy's shoulders. His smile is warm and it reaches up into the center of his eyes. She wants to weep, or vomit. It's up in the air.

"I'm Clint Barton, Jane asked me to meet you down here and grab dinner. Thanks for going through the trouble. I heard you're a hell of a cook, which is kind of a godsend around here."

Steve looks like the archer just spit in his face. "You know this girl?" He levels an authoritative gaze at Clint. Darcy shuffles her feet, the heavy meal still weighing her arms down. She doesn't want to cause any trouble between them. 

"Only by reputation. So, why don't you fuck off. I promise she's not going to stab anyone in the chest." Steve's cheeks turn pink and Darcy guesses that was some kind of personal dig. 

"She's still not permitted on-premises." He turns to her, leveling a finger in her face. "Leave immediately and never step foot in this building again."

He turns then and walks into the elevator, hitting the call button with his back turned to them. When the doors slide closed her arms start to shake and she sags against Clint's side. He reaches over and takes the bag of hot food from her and places it on the ground. 

She's crying. God, she's an idiot. 

"He's had a hard couple of decades. Doesn't excuse what he said, though." His feelings are good-natured and concerned. There's something focused and still inside of him, but all of his surface emotions are bright. He has no idea how much that helps her.

"He and his soulmate, don't like me much." She sniffs, wiping at her face with the sleave of her jacket. 

"You said his words on accident, didn't you?" 

"Yes, I did. You don't think I'm a crazy fangirl?" She doesn't ask how he knows about what happened. He's a spy. Maria Hill must know, too. She imagines all of the Avengers are aware of how much Bucky and Steve despise her. 

"No. I read your SHIELD file. You don't strike me as the kind of person to lie about something like that."

She should thank him for the compliment, but she can't get past her surprise. "I have a file?"

"Everyone associated with Thor and the incident in New Mexico has a file."

"Oh." What if they dig deeper? The thought of New SHIELD figuring out her secret makes her stomach drop right back down to the ground. Clint can read her distress, but he must assume she's worried about something.

"Rogers was actually doing you a favor. This place? It kind of sucks. Everyone's hangry and the last time we had a home-cooked meal I had to go to the medbay."

Darcy looks alarmed. "Why?"

"The cook was trying to poison us all with whey protein. It's a long story and I want to get this upstairs before it gets cold. Jane said Nat and I could have some if I came down to fetch it since she was occupied."

She can't help but smile. Of course, Jane was busy. They hit a breakthrough on the phone while she was cooking dinner. 

"Rumor has it you're an amazing cook. Would you mind doing this more often, for Nat and I too?"

"Uhm, sure. I don't mind. Cooking for larger groups of people is easier than cooking for two or three anyway." She'll figure out how to buy the ingredients later. Her job search will have to start immediately. It will probably take more than one to keep herself afloat if she's cooking for two assassins, a scientist and a God.

"We'd totally pay you." Is he reading her mind?

"Oh, no. I couldn't take money for cooking. I'm not a professional and it's not a big deal."

Clint is having none of her bullshit. "This is New York, groceries are going to cost a small fortune and judging by the smell of that lasagna I'd say you're fantastic."

She frowns. It doesn't seem like she's getting out of this. "Ok. How often do you want me to cook for you?"

"Once a week. I'm thinking Fridays, that's our date night." Oh, yeah. Natasha was his soulmate. Why did everyone else have such a perfect match? 

"Sounds good. That'll give me a few days to prep. Any requests? Somehow, he has her cell phone in his hand. He programs his number into her contacts and hands it back to her. 

"I'll text you. Don't worry about coming back to the tower. We can pick it up at your place so it saves you the trip."

She nods, feeling something like relief in her chest. "It's a deal."

"Great. There's a car waiting for you on the curb. It's kind of late to walk home alone."

"Thank you." She turns to go and Clint laughs.

"No, thank you. I don't think we can survive much longer on pizza and french fries."

...

After a brief car ride with a silent driver Darcy is home. The house is dark. A lifeless shell built on lies. 

She walks to the living room, turning on all of the lights in her path. The cruel eyes of her soulmate and his words were passing through sorrow and into anger. 

When she stepped out of the tower, something in her snapped. Dry kindling in her heart ignited. 

Darcy started to shake. Rage so pure and concentrated that it burned under her skin like hell. She took the necklace and stomped into the kitchen. 

The cast-iron skillet she used to brown the sausage for her lasagna sat on the stove. Clean and heavy. The Abaddon Tear clicked against the marble when she placed it on the kitchen counter. When he fingers wrapped around the handle she knew it was the right thing to do.

Cold iron was a power spell-cracker.

She raised the skillet above her head and closed her eyes. 

The skillet crashed down, landing on the crystal sphere and shattering it. Her vision filled with a bright light that filled her entire body. It was like electricity and molten rock.

Then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments! You seriously give me life.


	5. God Father Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy digs herself. 
> 
> For those of you who aren't sure what they look like, here's a picture of Darcy's nails. 
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/e5/52/f5/e552f5129ddf5dd030d1cef5fe4ec4f3.jpg
> 
> Also, here's a link to the t-shirt she wears for the rest of the chapter. 
> 
> https://www.blackcraftcult.com/products/cuz-jesus-doesnt-crop-tee

Hell's Chief Torturer is not enjoying her stay in New York. The time she expected to spend in smoky clubs was now dedicated to watching a common tiefling girl. 

"This isn't how I expected this trip to go, boss." She paced along the rooftop opposite her target's residence. Flipping a black curved blade in one hand and gripping her phone in the other.

"You of all creation should know better-" The demon started, responding to the ridiculous voice on the other end of the line. Mazikeen froze. A light not unlike the shine of the Great Host erupted from every window of the townhouse. It forced her eyes away, the bare sight of it too much for one forged in the pits. 

"Well, that's interesting."

...

Darcy comes to on her kitchen floor. The golden light streaming through the gauzy kitchen curtains tells her it's some time around noon.

Minutes tick by as she lays there, piecing together the how and why of it. Dinner, spies, her shitty soulmate. She broke the necklace open, freeing the part of her soul trapped within, but the memory is fuzzy. The last thing she can picture is a bright light and then waking up on the floor several hours later.

She pulls herself up into a sitting position and expects to feel pain, but nothing comes. Her head feels fine, even after smacking against the hard black granite floor and her back feels like she slept an entire night on Eleanor Lewis' feather bed than a slab of cold stone.

The most uncomfortable sensation is hunger. It's deeper than the stomach-clenching hunger she's felt before. It's rooted in her core. A consuming _want_ for...everthiny. Food, pleasure, intoxicants, and revenge. 

Her clothing feels too hot and constrictive. Seems rip and buttons pop as she tugs off the coat, dress, and boots she wore out the night before. Once she's stripped down to her panties and bra she sighs and stretches. Spine popping and hands clawing up into the air to work muscles that feel different. 

Her hands.

Her heart slams into her chest as she stares down at her splayed fingers. Long, black talon-like nails grew seemingly overnight. They curve into a deadly point and are over three inches long. 

Bare feet storm out of the kitchen. She runs upstairs to the master bathroom and full-length mirror. Darcy freezes in front of it, then approaches as if her reflection might reach out and claws at her. 

She looks like herself, but better. The blotchy red skin on her face is smooth and white. Her body hasn't changed mass, but everything is proportionate and plump. The barely-there nip in her waist is exaggerated now. The figure she always wanted but could never achieve appears to have grown overnight. She looks like a thick-set pin-up model. Hair that was untamable and frizzy is now glossy. Easy waves fall over her shoulders and catch the light. It looked better than it did when she spent hours straightening and re-curling it.

Her body is perfect. Except for the evil little fangs in her mouth and the talon-like nails. Her eyes and canines were a little longer and sharper than they had been before. It was subtle, but when she smiled in the mirror the effect was predatory.

"Ok. One thing at a time." She tells herself. At some point, Clint or Jane was going to call her today. Eventually, she had to interact with people. Her panic turned to focus as she took a deep breath and centered herself.

She might be some kind of monster, but she's finished feeling sorry for herself. Or ashamed for things she's not responsible for. Claws and fangs were a small price to pay for taking charge of her life. She survived eighteen years of being tortured and abused by Elanor Lewis. This was nothing she couldn't handle.

It's just a problem and she knows how to solve problems. 

First step. The talons. They were completely impractical and totally fucking creepy.

She examines them closely and takes a seat at the vanity. They are hard and naturally sharp, but not that different from her old nails. Darcy grew up without the luxury of pedicures so she was quite good at maintaining her own. _Trips to the salon would feed into her natural sense of vanity. Eleanor went every Friday to have her hair done but she never took Darcy along._

A few hours later her nails were more than passable, they were lovely. She pulled up a few beauty magazines online and looked up nail trends. Sharp, pointed, stiletto shaped nails were fashionable. It wasn't that difficult to cut them down and then file them into shorter tips. Red nail polish hid the unnatural black color and even complimented the lacquer. 

When she was done she held up her hand and admired her work. It looked like a hundred dollar acrylic set and the sight of those sharp little points made her purr.

"Well, that's not normal." Her voice sounded the same to her when she used words, but when she hummed it came out like a rumbling sound a lioness would make.

Note to self: don't make that fucking sound around anyone. Ever.

The next order of business is to take a fucking shower. She spends way longer than usually exploring the newness of her body. This kind of self love made her feel guilty and disgusting before.

Now it feels like breathing. The hot water trickling down her skin draws out that strange cat-like purr as she takes her time lathering and touching. Before she's done, Darcy has brought herself off three times. 

It's fucking glorious. The fact that she's doing all of this in her 'grandmother's' luxurious steam shower is the icing on the cake. 

It takes her half an hour to find something her new body wants to wear. All of her clothing is either too frumpy or too tattered to interest her. She should be looking for a job and squireling away more cash to pay the tax on the house, but instead, she plans to go out and buy some clothing that doesn't feel like sackcloth on her perfect skin. She doesn't understand why she subjected herself to all of the baggy faded clothing for so long. 

Living out of hostels and hotel rooms for two years with Jane meant that her wardrobe options are limited. She finally settled on a plain pair of black leggings, and a crop top she bought in Germany out of spite for her religious upbringing. It has a white carton goat head surrounded by the words _Satan Loves You_ in white lettering. 

The all-black ensemble paired with her devil red pointed nails makes her feel powerful. She spends a few more minutes than is strictly necessary admiring herself in the mirror. Until that simmering hunger she's felt all day makes itself known powerfully. 

Ok, next problem. 

Darcy means to be more productive that afternoon. There are applications to fill out and shopping to do, but she ends up on the couch in the back den of the house with enough take out to feed Thor. She devours an entire large pepperoni pizza, two tubs of ice cream, and three bottles of champagne. 

The bubbly is supplied by her hypocrite guardian's liquor cabinet. The large walnut armoire had pride of place in the living room. It was always kept under lock and key. Darcy didn't expect for it to be full when she broke the lock and pulled the doors open. 

She doesn't feel any ill effects. No matter how much greasy food she eats, or bubbly alcohol she drinks. There is only the pleasure of 'forbidden' food and a dreamy buzz from the champagne. Half a bottle of wine would have gotten her blackout drunk only yesterday, now it was basically like drinking sprite.

Around six pm she decides to take a break from binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and do something about her wardrobe. She knows that her behavior is irresponsible. She should be anxious about not knowing where her next paycheck is coming from but it's hard to care. There are things she wants that have been denied to her for too long and all she can think about is getting them.

"And why shouldn't you? You are beautiful and powerful. Take your pleasure where you can find it." A voice drifts out from the living room. It's made of silk and aged whiskey. Soft promises in the dark of the night.

The lights are out in that part of the house but she remembers turning them all on when it got dark a few hours before. 

"Who's there?" Darcy walks into the room and finds that her eyes adjust to the low light quickly. She doesn't need her glasses any longer, either. The world is crisp and bleeding with color without the help of her coke-bottle thick lenses.

"I am Azazel." The shadowy figure that appeared to her two nights before pulls itself together into one dark writhing mass in front of her. It bends itself in half. Bowing to her.

She should be afraid of it, but she isn't. It feels like something familiar. Like an old friend. "Why are you watching me?"

"I am watching over you, mistress. Do you not remember?"

She does. Someone bringing her food when she was locked away for days or hours. A soft, light voice singing into her crib, and holding her when she was a scared, little things that meant life or death to a little girl. Darcy thought she'd imagined all that, but a veil has been lifted and her memories become clearer.

"You've been here all this time?"

"Yes. The woman tried to keep us apart. She poured salt across the thresholds and misted the air with holy water but I am craftier than she. Come, I have a present for you."

The shadow passed her, brushing against her skin as it floated out into the hall and up the stairs. It felt like feathers across her arms where it touched her. 

She followed Azazel up into the bedroom she was now calling her own. A place where she was once shown all the finery Eleanor Lewis hoarded. For a woman of God, she loved her diamonds and her designer clothes.

"When the woman was dying, her wards grew weak with her. I was able to trick and hide. She meant to leave you with burden, mistress, but I have bested her."

Curious, she watched as the shadowy creature led her into the empty walk-in closet. Eleanor Lewis had willed all of her cash assets and valuables to the Tabernacle of Christ. It was all seemingly accounted for and removed before she took up residence. 

A panel at the back of the closet slid open and Azazel pulled out a large steamer trunk. It was big enough to hold her inside of it. When she opened the lid her breath caught.

"How is this possible? The lawyer said they sold everything off." Inside she found six velvet boxes filled with jewels. Necklaces, earrings, rings and a good amount of loose diamonds. Beneath that, the entire bottom third of the trunk was stacked with hundred dollar bills. There must be close to two million dollars. And that's not accounting for the fifty-pound bag of gold coins that took up a corner of the trunk.

"The people of the book are filled with avarice. These are ill-begotten riches. She tried to give it to her sisters in the church, but I hid it from her. They all thought she was mad, in the end." Azazel laughed as if he was reliving his game of hide and seek with the old woman.

Darcy sat back, tossing a ten thousand dollar bundle of bills from one hand to the other. She should feel bad. This money was probably stolen or swindled out of the faithful attendees of the Tabernacle. She should try to return it.

But she didn't want to. "I should find the original owners, the people the church has been scamming..."

"Why? Mistress, are you not due something for your pain?"

It's not a good argument, but she doesn't care.

"I do need some new clothes."

"Excellent. Let's go shopping." 

Darcy laughs. "Why are you helping me? Not that I'm complaining."

The spirit chuckles. "I am your godfather."

"Unfortunate choice of words, my guy."

"Yes."

...

"Is Thor not speaking to you again?" 

Pepper Potts slips her heels off as she unwinds for the night. Tony is going to bed at a decent hour this evening. Between Avenging and running and a billion-dollar tech conglomerate, the two of them don't get to spend enough time in their own bed as she'd like to.

"In my defense, he's not speaking to Hill, Rogers or Barnes."

"What did you do?"

"Why is it something I did?!"

"It's usually something you've done. Or didn't do. Or thought about doing." Every time she thinks Tony is getting better about how he treats other people he back peddles. 

"Can we not talk about this, I have a stomach ache." Tony is slumped against the headboard. A stark pad laying next to him. He's slugging down a fizzing cup of Alka-Seltzer and looking petulant. 

It is often painfully obvious why fate tied her to him, but she's not sure what she did to deserve a soulmate so difficult and complicated. Pepper loves him worts and all. She just wishes he would stop antagonizing every other living person who comes into contact with him on a daily basis.

"Ok, new topic. You need to hire someone to meal plan and cook. The word's greatest heroes cannot continue living off of Chinese takeout."

"I'm working on a solution." He swipes up and off the stark pad to show Pepper his latest project. It looks a lot like Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons. She frowns.

"I veto this idea. Out of hand."

"No, see, its brilliant. I've already got the infrastructure in place. I just need to work on making the exoskeleton dextrous enough to chop and dice." Pepper sighs and turns her eyes towards the heavens. Looking for strength.

"Remember when you tried to program JARVIS to write music?" Tony grunts, and manipulates one of the virtual components of his creation. 

"It sounded like an aluminum cat in heat, what's your point?"

"My point is that cooking is a creative skill. It's dynamic. You can't make a robot that creates art. You have to find a human being. Stop putting this off."

Tony scrubs his hands against his face and sits up, pulling his shirt off in the process.

"Where am I going to find someone who can feed a small army, cater to their tastes, and is affiliated in such a way as to ensure absolute loyalty?"

"I have no idea, you're the genius."

...

Natasha Romanov is knocking at her door. 

Her timing is suspicious but spies are probably just good at that kind of thing. Darcy stands up from her spot on the living room floor. She's surrounded by bag after bag from Nordstrom, Sephora, Luis Vuiton, Louboutin and half a dozen other indie designer labels. 

She might have gone a little crazy. The sales girls were all over her when they saw that she had cash. It was the strangest thing, really. People stared. She didn't think her outfit was all that revealing but men and women both kept stopping her and trying to make conversation. She wasn't even wearing makeup for fucks sake.

The Black Widow is not what she expects. 

The redhead is dressed in a black leather moto jacket, low heeled boots, and jeans. Natasha looks like she stepped out of a Victoria Secret runway and not Avengers Tower. She's gorgeous, and her lips look good enough to suck on...

Blinking that image away Darcy steps aside and welcomes her in.

"Hi! Clint said something about cooking for you guys?"

She glides into the foyer, subtly casing Darcy's home, attire, and what she can see in the living room from this angle. The redhead levels a warm smile towards her. The emotions that Darcy can sense are confusing. Contentment, paranoia, and worry. They don't seem to be caused by her, though. It feels like this is just Natasha's resting state.

"Thor and Jane were kind enough to share their dinner with us. I've never seen Clint eat that much salad without being threatened with a knife." Darcy laughs, but she's not sure it's a joke.

Pride swells inside of her. She loves it when people appreciate her food. Watching them eat is almost as rewarding as eating itself. 

"I'm glad, really. You guys probably need better fuel. For saving the world and stuff. Hey, want some coffee?" Natasha's eyes politiely move to the black cloth band around her bicep where Bucky's awful words circle like a poisonous snake. It's impolite to ask people about their soulmarks, but there's something curious about Natasha's smile.

"Yes, that would be lovely."

Darcy grinds her own fresh coffee beans and doctors it with cinnamon before brewing it in a french press. A companionable silence falls between them. She serves the other woman a piece of the sweet cinnamon roll bread she made yesterday and forgot to send with Jane's dinner.

"I have a proposition for you." Darcy's mug freezes halfway to her mouth. Her cheeks color a bit because her brain supplies an image that she sure Natasha didn't intend. 

"All right?"

"You're not far from the tower and Jane seems to need some prodding out of her lab. If it's not too much of an imposition, we wanted to come by on weeknights for dinner. Thor, Clint and I would supply the groceries and help you to clean up. I know this is a big ask."

But they need a better diet, Darcy finishes in her mind. It wouldn't be that bad, having Thor and Jane over. The spies seem like good people and she's not going to turn down making a few new friends. 

"On one condition."

"Name it." Natasha smiles from the rim of her coffee mug. Unable to hide her delight when she tastes the liquid inside of it.

"Roger and Barnes aren't invited. Neither is Stark."

"You have a deal. What are you doing tonight?" There's another knock on her door, Darcy nods as she runs to get it. Who else would stop by?

She finds Thor, Jane and Clint on her front stoop. They are loaded down with grocery bags except for Jane who launches herself at Darcy and wraps her arms around her neck.

"I'm an asshole." 

Darcy buries her face into the other woman's neck. Partly to hide the tears that want to spill, and also because she smells so fucking good. 

"You totally are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muse has struck me hard on this one. Thank you all for your comments and questions and theories. 
> 
> A lot of people have commented on Steve manhandling Darcy. I know that's kind fo domestic violence-y. I'm not going to let that stand unaddressed. Don't worry darlings.


	6. Hell's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl has needs, a demon has even more.

The sex came back pretty fast. That was always something they were good at. When they couldn't say _I love you_ in the light of day Bucky used his mouth to trace it out on Steve's skin. 

He drew new words on Bucky's back when they were younger. Right across his shoulder blades with pale India ink when he ran out of paper. They held each other through shivering winter nights in their first apartment and snuck into one another's tent on the front. 

He never thought he and Bucky could live in the same home and sleep in the same bed. Same-sex soul mates were just as common then as they are now but society liked to pretend they didn't exist. If your soulmate happened to be the same gender as you, it was meant to be a platonic bond. As long as you didn't make soo much fuss people tended to look the other way.

They had everything to lose but risked it all just to touch in their sleep. To be something more than _friends_ to one another.

Now Bucky curls up at the edge of the bed, arms tucked into his stomach with his legs drawn up. It's progress. He shouldn't complain.

When he brought Bucky in from Prague last year they couldn't share a bed. He was afraid of waking up in the night and mistaking Steve for a mark. His nightmares are better now, but he still doesn't trust himself. 

Tonight, Steve lays on his back. His right arm stretched out across a chasm of cold sheets. He watches Bucky breathe slow and steady. Still glistening with the sweat they worked up not an hour ago. 

They can go at each other all night but it's different. It feels a bit like he thinks adultery might feel. Since they both woke up in this century their new marks have become an obsession. Steve's runs down the back of his knee to his ankle. Bucky's looks like a circle, drawn in the center of his back.

The same loopy, lazy handwriting on their skin. Their soulmate is a woman. They know with the uncanny surety that most triads have about their missing third. 

The words don't give them much to go on. Steve's are public knowledge which means they are basically useless. And Bucky's words are nonsensical, even for a hundred year old super-soldier. 

He doesn't like who he's becoming. Every time someone approaches them with a false claim a little bit of his hope dies. He doesn't know what they mean to accomplish with it. Bucky's marks are still secret. Why would anyone want to hitch their wagon to them anyway? There's not a single thing they could give a woman and everything to take from her. He's well aware that they need their third more than she needs them.

The girl in the elevator keeps popping up in his thoughts. When he saw her the day after it infuriated him. Another pretender waiving his deepest desire in front of his face. Reminding him of his selfishness. His need to pull some innocent person into his twisted life.

He wouldn't have known at all if it weren't for Hill. 

_"That girl you mentioned this afternoon is back, Captain Rogers." Steve tossed the Stark pad with the last mission report and looked up to the brunette who reminded him of Peggy's worst traits._

_"You said she was attached to Foster?"_

_"Somewhat. They're friends. It looks like she rode Jane's coat-tails around Europe for a few years. I'm not surprised she pulled that stunt earlier. Would you like me to have security escort her out?"_

_He stood up and headed for the door. _

_"No, I'll do it." _

His emotions swung like a pendulum. Regret, rage, regret. Clint threw him for a loop that night. He connected her to the name Thor had been shouting at Stark earlier that week. Darcy Lewis. The demi-god was incensed that they hadn't offered her a position, but he agreed with Tony after the fact. They didn't need a civilian underfoot. 

The bad blood seemed to have boiled over until that morning. And he can't shake what Thor said to him after their sparring match in the gym.

"I can literally hear you blaming yourself for something."

"Thought you were asleep." Steve turned over, not bothering to pull the sheet up his bare body. 

"How can I sleep when you're dying for the sins of the world?" The dark-haired man grumbled and turned over. They watched one another for a few moments. Bucky's metal hand reaching out to rub circles against Steve's palm. Well, that's a little more progress.

"Remember that girl in the elevator?"

Bucky shrugs, but he pulls his eyes away from Steve. Something doesn't sit right about it with him, either. "She had a pretty nice rack."

"What did you say to her?"

His arm gleamed in the city light spilling through their window. Steve watched his fingers closing around his hand. 

"Something my ma' woulda boxed my ears for."

He frowns. It's time he learned Russian, but sometimes he thinks Bucky would rather he didn't. Steve knows he sometimes can't control slipping into the language they beat into him. He's ashamed of it.

"She's the same girl Thor was screamin' about, few weeks ago."

The hand disappears and Bucky rolls onto his back. "Foster's baggage?" That doesn't sound fair, but he can't pinpoint why. 

"Yeah, well, Thor's pretty fond of her."

"Oh yeah? He stepping out on Foster?" He can see the moment of regret on Bucky's face when that comes out of his mouth. He closes his eyes.

"You know that's not true, Buck." Silence. One thing that hasn't changed. Bucky has a mouth like a loose pistol. He still says things he doesn't mean. 

"What's a God care about a girl he's not taking to bed?"

"He said we'd regret what we said to her. That she wasn't foolin' around. She said the words on accident."

Bucky turns away from him. Ending the conversation. Steve sighs and rolls onto his back. He's about to drift off when he hears Bucky say, "I already do."

...

That first dinner was exactly what she needed.

The cavernous townhouse hadn't hosted so many people since Darcy was in high school. Eleanor Lewis held prayer meetings and church banquets. It was her chance to show off the wealth she'd acquired and the 'grandaughter' she'd bent into compliance. There were never other children in attendance, although many of the Tabernacle members had large families as demanded by church tenant. 

She asked why when she was thirteen and spending a lonely summer away from her Christian private school at home. _"You can't be trusted with innocent souls"_ was Eleanor's response. It was no wonder why she didn't have very many friends at school.

But that night gave the old place a new life. They used the mahogany great table in the dining room. It could seat twenty people comfortably and easily accommodated her friends, new and old.

Everyone sat at the kitchen island while she cooked and chatted with her. They went through three bottles of her late 'grandmother's' Domaine Leroy and another bottle of the champagne Darcy had been drinking earlier that day.

Her eyes keep wondering over her friends throughout the evening. Jane, whom she's never seen as anyone remotely sexual glows with sensual energy. Darcy wants to like her neck, which is more than a little bit disturbing. Natasha and Clint smell like one another, and it's extremely appealing. She fights all evening to keep her eyes from wandering and her libido from distracting her.

It's a bit odd at times. She's never been a sexual person. Her two experiences with men were disappointing and over a bit too quickly. It's frowned upon to sleep around much before meeting your soulmate but Darcy figured she wasn't going to have a happy ever after with hers and she wanted to explore her sexuality. 

So far the male of the species has proven to be boring and inept. She's attracted to women but they intimidate her. It feels like women judge one another much more harshly and she never had the courage or boldness to be with a woman until now.

It's something she decides to explore. Her soulmates are never going to want her. Especially now that she's some kind of creature. It's time to find her own happiness. Her empathic abilities seem to be gone as well. Which makes it much easier to deal with people in general. She's free to puzzle them out on her own without spying into their inner life. 

It makes her feel normal. Ironically, releasing the piece of her soul that contained something unnatural and monstrous makes her feel more genuinely connected to others.

Clint and Natasha were like an old married couple. She can't shake the feeling that The Black Widow can see right through her, but she probably has that effect on everyone. It should cause her more anxiety than it does, but that missing piece of her soul must be unshakable. Darcy hasn't felt so relaxed and happy in...well, she's never felt this happy.

There's a black pit in her heart that wants her soulmates, but she's lived with worse burdens. The words she's carried on her skin all her life made her feel less than. The people who were supposed to love and care for her used those words to further their own agendas. Through all of that she maintained her sense of self, she never caved to it.

Natasha Romanov's suspicion rolls off her shoulders. The woman seems to like her enough after the evening is over. But that might also be attributed to the delicious chicken stew and biscuits from scratch she made them.

There is one strange moment that evening. Clint, Natasha, and Jane volunteer to do dishes. Despite protests, Darcy insists on helping Thor clean up the dining room table. They are going to play a few card games before everyone meanders back to the tower.

When they are alone in the room Thor turns to her and gives her a kind smile.

"You're jewel, it's gone?"

"You mean my necklace, the one I always wore?"

He nods, crossing his massive arms over a proportionately massive chest.

"I broke it, on purpose." She can sense some knowing from him. From the beginning, Thor knew about her 'powers'. They were weak and unimpressive, but he said that she should embrace them. It felt good to tell people. Jane said that someday she was going to do a bunch of experiments on Darcy and prove that her powers weren't supernatural at all. But that was just curiosity. 

"I thought it was something you treasured, from your mother?" He's not saying all he knows. That makes her a little angry, but she's close to telling him exactly what's happened, and that would be some relief she needs right now.

"It wasn't. I found some of my grandmother's papers. She-" Darcy splays her hands out against the table. Saying it out loud is hard.

"She wasn't who I thought she was, and neither am I."

"It took courage to shatter something that has brought so much comfort, even if it is a lie. I am proud of you." Darcy's heart feels lighter. Her smile beams up at him. 

Thor's reaction to her fangs are one of surprise, but he's clearly more curious than anything else.

Their conversation is cut a bit short when the other three guests return and everyone has to get back to the tower.

Darcy decides to talk to Thor and Jane later. The next time they come over without the spies. Maybe they can help her understand and get a handle on some of her strange urges.

...

So she's a private chef now.

Her life begins to set it's rhythm. Her friends drop by three nights in a row. They make dinner together. or talk at her while she makes dinner, play board games and then they all leave for the tower.

She's thankful for the time she gets to spend with them but every time Jane hugs her goodbye a little piece of her heart cracks. 

Living with Jane and Thor was hard. But spending time with another perfectly matched couple lays her own loneliness bare. While her desire burns hotter every day, she goes to bed alone. 

A part of her nature is demanding her to go find a lover, but there's too much pain to over come. She dresses her body in tight leather pants, halter tops, and push up bras. Her instincts scream at her for release but she pushes it down. 

She doesn't know what her body is capable of yet. That's the excuse, at least.

It's not hard to distract herself though. Her only duties now are to plan, shop and cook for five people. It's so simple that she's begun to challenge herself.

Today she's looking for fresh butternut squash at the 97th Street Greenmarket.

Dusk is falling and the bite of autumn is beginning to turn to winter. Her boots crunch on dead leaves as she exits the market. A red plaid shawl is wrapped around her upper body while both hands grip a reusable shopping bag filled with the ingredients for the evening meal.

Darcy takes a short cut through an alley. After a few moments, she realizes that someone is following her. A sharp chill skitters down her neck and she imagines eyes moving behind her. The sound of light boots appear. She whirls around and finds nothing. Traffic inches by at the mouth of the alley. 

Something whips through the air. It whistles as the object spins towards her. Time slows and her hand reaches up on its own power. Fingers snapping closed around a small silver blade before it can lodge into her chest.

"Nice catch." A lazy voice comes from the shadows. 

"You could have killed m!" Darcy tosses the blade down so hard that it sticks into the concrete up to the leather-wrapped hilt. 

"That's the point. If I could kill you with a dagger then I'd know for sure you aren't who I'm looking for." The voice belongs to a gorgeous dark-skinned woman. Her hair is black and she isn't dressed for the weather. 

"Let's skip to the point where you tell me what the hell you want." A week ago Darcy would have tried to run. The Dark Elf attack gave her panic attacks for months afterward. Jane and Thor were depending on her so she got it done, but it wasn't easy.

Now she doesn't feel anything but curiosity and annoyance. 

"Smart girl. Strong too. Most tieflings are reduced to a gibbering waste when they come into their powers. You're thriving, though." The woman begins to circle Darcy. She can feel the sharp teeth behind her lips lengthen and her eyes burn. When the other woman steps too close Darcy opens her mouth and hisses at her.

First purring, and now hissing? What is she, a cat demon?

"You've been watching me."

"Correct. I am Mazikeen, Hell's Chief Torturer and Earth's temporary guardian. We've had a bit of a jail break down below and I'm here on behalf of The Boss. I just so happened to notice your power. Impressive, for a half breed."

She has so many questions. "I assume you mean the Devil?"

"One and the same. He keeps the gates locked up tight but sometimes the occasional mortal or infernal summoner sneaks something out. I thought it might have been your doing, but you obviously lack the skill or the desire to pull something like that off."

"So- I'm a demon?" The halfbreed comment finally catches up to her. It knocks her for a loop and the world shrinks down into one manic point in her head. _I'm evil. I'm bad. I'm disgusting._

"Half demon. Don't get it twisted. You wouldn't be the first ill-begotten offspring from the pit." The woman uses Darcy's existential distraction to close in on her. The hand that touches her cheek is warm and soft, it draws her out of her spiraling thoughts. "And you've done nothing wrong, little girl. There's no need to fear me."

Darcy leans into the touch. It lights her nerve endings on fire. 

"But we do need to have a very long conversation. Can't have you fucking innocent mortals to death or feasting on man-flesh." Darcy snapped her head up, alarm drawing her eyes up to Mazikeen's smiling face. "Unless you want to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are some hanging plot pieces. Thanks for sticking with this wild ride, darlings. It looks like this is going to be well over twenty chapters.


	7. Physical Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two demons walk into a bar, a bunch of guys limp out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forward, I'll be rating each chapter. My favorite thing to write is smut, so if you're not into that kind of thing, I'll tag each chapter so you can skip it. 
> 
> This chapter is rated R for violence and implied threesome fun.

Later that night, Darcy meets the demon for a drink. The bar is called Hades Town and it's located in Hunts Point. The seediest neighborhood in New York. She's never been anywhere near it, but the place has a reputation that even a sheltered Upper East Side kid like her is aware of.

A little after eleven pm, Darcy slips into the bar. The air is hung with thick blue smoke and her black, skimpy attire blends right in. Her six hundred dollar heels and designer leather jacket don't turn any heads, but the place is so dim and gloomy she doesn't think anyone would be able to pick her out from the crowd.

Curiously, her eyesight is just fine. A week has passed since she freed herself from the Abbadon Tear and every day she realizes something else about her body has changed. 

Her night vision is perfect. Darcy dodges through the crowded bar, catching glimpses into dark corners where unsavory business is done. She finds Mazikeen at the back of the room, sitting near the end of the long bar top. The woman is beautiful, in a feral way. Her dark skin tone accented by the tight leather leggins and thigh-high patent red boots. She wears a shimmering gold halter top with chains crisscrossing her bust and circling her arms. 

"You're late half breed."

"It's Darcy, actually, and I got off on the wrong subway stop." She takes a seat next to the woman and tries to avoid putting her hands on the sticky surface. "I couldn't find a cab that would take me to this side of town. You're a very classy lady."

Maze motions for the bartender. He drops a clean glass in front of Darcy and sets down a top-shelf bottle of whiskey. The demon pours Darcy three fingers of liquor and then sets the bottle down. "Old habit. I spent my first few years on this plane slinging drinks. And call me Maze."

Darcy picks up the glass and takes a delicate sip. It burns fierce but feels good slipping down her throat. She knows that if she drank the entire bottle she'd hardly feel a buzz. Drinking was something she tended to overdo, before, but now it's just another simple pleasure. 

"That's an interesting career choice for hell-spawn."

"I was forged not born, there's a distinction." Maze finished her glass and pours herself a second. Ok, so they are drinking the whole bottle. Fun.

"So, are we going to drink until one of us gets all weepy, or is this a date?" Darcy is enjoying the attention her new body brings her. Men, women, it doesn't matter. The thought of going to bed with a demon should be repellent but it's just fascinating. She smiles gamely at Maze and leans her elbow on the bar-top, turning to face the other woman.

"I don't date, I fuck." She smiles around her glass and downs the second just as quickly as the first. "But this is pure business. Shockingly, The Boss doesn't like it when half-breeds run about creating mortal mayhem. Although I personally find it quite amusing."

The knife Mazikeen threw at her earlier that day is sitting in her picket. She idly grips and fiddles with it as the demon speaks. 

"I want to ask you a few questions. Just to asses what breed you're descended from. Then I'll take over your training. You must learn to control your powers, however they choose to manifest."

"So I'm not inherently evil?" Her ability to regulate her impulses is gone. She eats what she wants, she says what she likes, and she's planning on living as hedonistically as possible. She still feels guilt and shame, but there's a sense of power and rightness inside of her that counteracts it. Her fear is that she is slipping into a degenerate spiral of depravity and selfishness. That sooner or later she'll hurt someone, or worse, one of her friends.

"I don't know, are you?" The demon holds her gaze for a few heart beats, but Darcy breaks and turns her head. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her thick shinning hair, the dark smokey makeup accenting her startling blue eyes. Pale skin. Red lips. Is she evil?

"I don't think I'm a bad person. At least, I don't choose to be."

"Then there's your answer. Some angels are mass-murdering psychopaths and some demons protect humanity from their own kind. Your species doesn't change who you are."

"Even superheroes can be douchebags." There's a bitter note to the words and Maze looks into her. Darcy squirms and moves the conversation on.

"Ask your questions."

Maze leans forward. Her dark eyes hide something older and deeper. It hurts to look into them for more than a heart beat.

"Are you a virgin?"

She can't help it, she laughs. "No."

The demon studies her. "Most humans wait for their fleshmate, why didn't you?"

She swirls her glass, watching the amber liquor sloshing against the sides. "I wasn't going to wait for two assholes that didn't want me. It was disappointing, though. So nothing to write home about."

"It usually is, with mortal men." The demon smiles all sharp and hungry. "And what about your lovers? I assume there was more than one? Did you wake up to their corpse? Or, did any of them die of mysterious causes after the fact?"

Darcy frowns. "There were two. Boyfriends, by the way. One is married to a Kindergarten teacher in New Jersey and the other joined the Air Force. Both seem to be alive and kicking a few years after the fact."

The other woman looks a bit put out and disappointed. "Even with your powers locked away and your soul caged, a succubus would kill the first mortal man she had. So we can cross that one off the list."

"What about uhm-", she fidgets. Coy, despite the oceans of need inside of her. "My libido is...a lot bigger."

"Of course it is." Maze laughs, pouring herself a new drink and topping off Darcy's. "You're a creature of sin and sensuality. All demons have large appetites. For all of the pleasures of mortal flesh. You don't need sex to survive, but you should definitely indulge." The woman's eyes cast around Darcy's body, as if she can see her hidden soulmarks. 

"Moving on." She doesn't want to have a conversation about her shitty soulmates. Stupidly, she said too much already. 

"What about flesh? Do you find yourself craving raw meat, blood, or human soft tissues?"

Darcy crinkles her nose in disgust. "Soft tissues?"

"The eyes. Lacrimosa Demons, for example, prefer to eat the eyes first, and then drink their victims' last tears."

"No, fuck. None of that. I just eat a bunch of Ben and Jerry's and spend too much time with my battery-operated boyfriend."

Maze throws her head back and laughs. The genuine mirth on her face makes the other woman look younger. More human. "There's no need to resort to human toys. Go find the real thing, I'm ninety percent sure you won't accidentally kill your paramour."

"I'm working up to it. I didn't always look like this, you know. I'm still getting used to being noticed."

The demon looks puzzled, confusion written over her features. "Let's just, talk about something else, ok? Any more deeply personal questions?"

"I'm having some trouble pinpointing your species. It's generally one of the flesh-eaters or some strain of incubi that mate with mortals. Can you read men's minds, feel their emotions?"

"I can't read minds, but I could feel what other people felt before. It's gone now, though. After I smashed the seal that was keeping my soul locked, it kind of just went away."

Maze sighs and looks out into the crowd. "That doesn't make any sense. Ok, final question. Your strength, reflexes and healing abilities. Have they changed?"

"I think I'm stronger? I caught that dagger you threw at me, but I haven't exactly asked my friends to start throwing punches at my face to test it out."

The demon stands up, stretching her arms above her head and surveying the crowd. "That's a shame. The Black Widow would surely oblige you."

Darcy means to ask how Maze knows Nat, but she's probably been spying on her for a while now and no one's secretive about spending time in her home.

"Now what? Is there some kind of magical paternity test you can run? Maybe a magic mirror that will reflect my true nature?"

"No time. I've got a simpler solution."

The bar turns into an all-out brawl almost instantly. The dingy little room was already crackling with weary, chaotic energy. All it took was Maze breaking a bar stool over the back of a biker to ignite it like kindling in hell.

"It was her." Maze deadpans, pointing to Darcy. The mountain of a man turns on her and raises one of his giant meaty fists to bring it down onto her skull. He's over six feet tall with long greasy black hair and a thick build. Dark hair, tall, powerful frame.

He keels over, gasping for air before that hand can smash onto her head. Darcy's knee devastates the man's gut. He vomits stale beer and the girl doesn't let him finish before she grabs him by the back of the head and drives it into the wooden bar top. He collapses like a bag of rocks.

_That felt good._

When she straightens up, six of the guys' buddies are advancing on her and Maze. A couple of them have knives, there are some brass knuckles in play and she's pretty sure at least one of them has a gun.

Darcy smiles. Teeth sharp and eyes flashing red. "Who's next?"

...

He doesn't remember what the party is for.

Some kind of charity thing Stark is forcing them all to attend. Steve stuffed him into a three-piece suit and combed his hair. Bucky's wearing it up in a bun. He even shaved for the occasion. 

He's not sure why he bothers. Steve thinks they might meet her at some kind of function like this, but he's highly doubtful of that, considering the marks on his back.

Steve is across the room, talking up some Four Star general. The military types at these functions always single him out, and he obliges like it's his duty. Bucky is standing at the bar, pointedly not making small talk.

His therapist says that it's natural to stay distant, but he hates it. It feels like hiding. He used to be something of a charmer. And that's the worst part because he can remember that boy. The kid with the full dance card who was quick to smile and wisecrack to make a pretty girl giggle. It might be easier if those memories were lost to him.

He's excruciatingly aware of the giant hole inside of him. Part of the Soldier he'll probably never shake. They tried to destroy all of the human empathy inside of him, take away his ability to connect with other people. They almost succeeded outright. 

Thank god they never managed it, not all the way. He loves Steve with a fire that scares him. And he's deeply devoted to their third, even though he wouldn't know her from Eve. But it stops there. Like a snarling, kicked dog, it feels like he's only got room in his heart for his soulmates.

It's made him mean, and he hates that too. He's starting to become more and more like his father. A cruel drunk with hard fists and sharp words. The shit that comes out of his mouth sometimes is appalling, he knows it. But he's too weak to let go of a defense mechanism that kept him alive and sane all those frozen decades.

"You have the Murder-Look thing going on." Steve's friend, Sam sidles up to the bar. He's a good looking man, Bucky can appreciate that. He might even like the guy and feel a little bad for almost killing him that one time in D.C.

"Nonsense. I'm pensive. Intensely pensive." He nurses the bourbon and water in his glass and then catches Natalia as she glides into the room. So much of her skills came from him, but she's still a dancer in her core. He envies how much of herself she preserved through the mutual hell they lived together. 

Sam tracks his eyes to the redhead and sighs. Like a damn woman. Natalia has that effect on people, even from twenty yards away. 

"Is that-"

"Natasha Romanov, The Black Widow, Clint Barton's soulmate. Yeah pal." He laughs as their subject moves towards him. Obviously, she read Bucky's lips from across the room. 

Steve said that Nat and Sam kept him sane when he first got out of the ice. Although they never met one another. That they are both as close to family as he's had in a while. A part of him is a little jealous of that, but he's mostly grateful to them both. His history with Natalia is complex, but they've come around into something like a sibling relationship and he's all right with that. His therapist says that the more people he lets in to care about him, the easier it will be to care about himself. He's not too sure about that, though. 

The two men are silent as Natasha approaches. She's wearing a black gown with delicate sequins sewn into the fabric. Like she's wearing the night sky.

"I'm about to make an ass of myself." Sam blurts out when she turns to regard him. She freezes, Bucky wouldn't have caught it if he weren't standing right fucking there for it.

_ He just said her words. Is this what it's supposed to look like? The dawning surprise, shock, and then endless hope on her face makes his heart clench in loss._

"I happen to be rather fond of fools, so I forgive you in advance." They stare one another down and Bucky swears there's a blush creeping up the dark-skinned man's neck. 

"Holy shit. You're. Oh my god. I-" Barton claps a hand on Sam's shoulder and smiles, turning the taller man slightly to look at him. Where the hell did Clint come from? It's disturbing how good he is at just showing up places.

"Need a drink probably?" His second words uttered in sixty seconds seem to paralyze Sam.

Bucky's gut burns with jealousy, longing, and regret that he doesn't understand. Under it all, he's so fucking happy for them. Truly happy and the feeling is so stark and new it robs him of speech.

"My soulmates are Hawkeye and Black Widow." The spies are smiling at Sam, they all fall quiet and just look at one another. Pieces of themselves long lost slotting into place.

He feels like a voyeur and that discomfort shakes him out of his stupor. "You three maybe need a room or something?" He takes a long pull of his drink as the new triad considers his suggestion.

"Yes, we do need to talk." Clint is full of swagger but there's a warmth in his eyes that bellies tears.

"Huh- yeah. Hey, Bucky you want to tell Steve I'll be....indisposed for a while?" 

Bucky laughs and shoves Sam into Clint's embrace. "Yeah, we'll all have a nice catch-up tomorrow morning over breakfast. Get the fuck out of here, all three of ya."

As they walk away, Natalia nods to him. She has that glint in her eyes he knows well. The knowing of something. Or, near enough to it. He answers her query with his own look, _ whatever it is, you're wrong._ which elicits a smile from her.

The three of them disappear into the hallway towards the elevator banks. The gala is being held in the 90th story of Avengers Tower. Probably to add to its exclusivity, but most likely because Tony hates dealing with midtown traffic. 

"I think she's really taken a shine to you." Scott's voice carries from across the room. The Regular Sized man is sitting with his legs in Bruce's lap. The scientist looks both uncomfortable and hopelessly fond of his bafoonish soulmate. With the party winding down around them, he figures it's safe to socialize with his teammates. Bucky crosses the room and takes a seat in a chair facing the pair of them.

"What are you going on about, Lang" Bucky asks, relaxing back into his seat and forcing his muscles to unclench. He's safe here, no one's looking for him, and he can feel Steve's eyes glancing towards him from across the room every few minutes. It's as comfortable as he can ever be, but there remains a knot of anticipatory tension running like a live wire through his body.

"We took Cassie to Coney Island today. Bruce thinks he's awful with kids. He's totally not. She loves him." Since meeting his soulmate last month Bruce has smiled more. The two of them got on like oil on water for about a week, but they seem to be inseparable now.

"I bought her enough cotton candy to put a grown man into a diabetic coma. That's probably most of it." He rests his hand on Scott's shin. This is the most PDA either of them as shown since finding one another, and it kind of warms his old broken heart. He wishes that it were this easy to show affection to his own soulmate in public but neither of them have quite gotten over the baggage of their generation.

"We're taking her to the Met tomorrow, she's going to go nuts. And she's going to love you." Scott is a ridiculous person, but his optimism and good-natured idiocy seem like a good counterbalance to Bruce's shy, anxious nature. He wouldn't have guessed it, but they are basically perfect for one another.

"We need to make sure it's all right to bring an extra dinner guest. Don't let me forget." Bruce looks around and frowns, not finding the person his question is meant for.

"Where'd Nat go?"

"She and Clint spirited their third off to consummate their bond, probably."

Scott and Bruce whip their heads up towards him and say, in unison, "What?!"

It seems like everyone is finding their missing piece, but he and Steve.

"Wilson. They just met and took off, not that I blame em. I'd haul up my girl across my shoulder and get the fuck out of town, too." Why does it hurt so much, talking about it? He felt longing, but now there's a stab of sadness and regret he doesn't understand. It's only just started up about a week ago. Although that's not strictly speaking abnormal for him. He often doesn't understand his own feelings.

"Holy shit." Is Scott's elegant response.

"Cheers to them." Bruce finishes, raising his glass of ginger ale. He and Scott mirror him, "Cheers."

...  
Maze drops her off a few hours later.

The demon drives a restored Indian Motorcycle and it felt exhilarating to hold onto the other woman's waist and speed through the city after the fight int he bar.

The fight she totally won, by herself.

There's probably some broken glass stuck behind her back from the bottle that was smashed over her head, but it's more of an annoyance. The gash on her forehead bled alarmingly but by the time Maze pulls up to her front stoop the cut has healed.

She steps off the bike, her blood singing with energy. She hoisted a grown man up above her head and tossed him onto a table not even an hour ago. It's surreal and absolutely breathtaking.

"You didn't do bad. That was some quality violence, for an untrained half-mortal whelp." Maze is smiling through the insult, though. "I texted you an address. Meet me there every day, at noon. We'll start with hand to hand and acrobatic training."

"Something tells me you're going to be a real hard ass." Darcy says, grinning.

"Darcy? Oh my god, what happened to you?" Jane runs up towards her. The scientist is alone this evening. She touches Darcy's shoulders and pulls her close, examining the blood on her head and then frowning when she doesn't see the obvious source.

"I'm fine, Janey. Want to come in?" The frowning intensifies when she turns to Maze. 

"Who's this?"

Before she can stop herself, Darcy speaks. "This is my cousin, Maze. We met for a drink and some asshole got handsy. We're both fine, promise."

"Better than fine." Maze starts the engine and pulls off into the night, ignoring Jane completely.

"Come on, let's see how bad the damage is." The astrophysicist is used to patching people up, what with her demi-god boyfriend and his dumb heroics. 

They get inside and Jane makes Darcy sit down while she goes to find the first aid kit and a glass of water. When she comes back, Darcy's decided to just come out and tell her. She intends to tell Thor anyway, and despite her shittiness, Jane is her best friend.

"Jane, stop. I need to tell you something." Her friend has a cotton swab soaked in alcohol, rooting through her blood matted hair trying to find the cut. "No, let me just...Darcy, I can't find the gash."

"Because you won't find it. Listen to me, Jane- Jane! Look at me, goddamnit."

Her friend slowly pulls her hand away, perplexed. 

"Even you must have noticed my change last week."

For a moment, Jane looks offended. "What's that supposed to mean-" Darcy levels a look that quiets the scientist. 

"You're not exactly- well, supportive."

Jane hangs her head. "I know I get distracted and that day at the Tower I should have put my foot down. At least defended you, but I didn't."

She looks at her friend for a few moments. Darcy can hold onto this thing between them. Make it fester and tear them apart. Something inside of her is telling the half-demon to do just that. Make Jane suffer, the way she suffered. 

But that's not going to help Jane become a better friend, and it's certainly not going to benefit Darcy. This change inside of her is big and heavy and even though she had the time of her life kicking the shit out of those biker thugs tonight, she needs someone to share this with. She's tired of carrying all of her issues alone. 

"You should have, and I was really hurt. Something else happened that day and it- it felt like every awful thing Eleanor Lewis ever said about me was true. I needed you, and you weren't there." She lets that hang for a minute, but then she goes on before Jane can respond. "But I need you now, too. And I know you didn't do it maliciously. I just have to tell you something and I need to know you're in my corner. Are you, Jane?"

Jane throws her arms around Darcy. She can hear the scientist sniffling in her ear. "I am. I always am, Darcy. I've never really told you how much I appreciate everything you do. For me, and for Thor. I took you for granted and I promise I'll never do it again."

Darcy wraps her arms around her friend and they just hold each other for a few seconds. It feels good, it steadies her. When Darcy pulls away her own eyes are rimmed in tears. She wipes at her cheeks, thankful for waterproof mascara.

"What happened that day? Thor was pissed about something else, but he wouldn't tell me. Then, he had to go to Asgard for a few weeks. He says there's something the Avengers keep facing and can't beat."

A cruel little note of bitter triumph winds up through her heart. Although it's not as potent when she thinks about Clint, Nat and Thor dealing with whatever trouble is stumping them. She does take a moment to picture someone or something punching Steve square in the face.

"I don't want to talk about it yet. I'm sorry, on top of everything else I just...can't."

Jane nods. "I understand. When you're ready, I'll be here. Promise."

Darcy takes a deep breath. Ok, time to get this over with.

"You've noticed how different I look, right? That I look...better." She's beautiful. For the first time in her life when she looks in the mirror, she sees this fierce, gorgeous woman looking back. It's disturbing because sometimes she doesn't recognize that face as her own, but she understands the power of it. Her allure. The fangs and the talons are really the least alarming alteration. 

"Change? Darcy, you look exactly the same." That throws her for a loop.

"What!? No, Jane. Come on, look at my skin, my hair." She stands up, and shrugs off her glass filled jacket. Underneath she wears a halter top, a strapless bra pushing up her sizable chest and her smooth, shapely stomach on display. "Look at my waist! It's fucking perfect. I'm a total hourglass."

Jane just looks even more confused. "Darcy, I'm really happy that you're finally seeing what everyone else can see, but nothing's changed about you." Jane pauses, and then stands up, settling her hands on Darcy's waist.

"What dress size are you?"

It makes her laugh. "Now? I'm a size twelve before I-" Her voice trails off. She's always been a size twelve. 

"Since I've met you, you've been that same size. I remember, because whenever we go clothes shopping you grumble about it. But you're beautiful, you've always been beautiful. You just hid it under big coats and scarves and beanies. Not that your hand knitting is bad, but this? I like this. It seems more like you."

She covers Jane's hands with her own and blinks rapidly. This is something she's going to have to unpack later. It doesn't feel like magic, now that she thinks about it. The power inside of her and the inhuman features are new, but that missing piece of her soul might have given her a clarity she lacked. Through all of the abuse.

"Ok. Well, what about these." Darcy smiles, wide. Showing the sharp eye and canine teeth she's been hiding behind her closed lips grins. It's been hard, not throwing her head back and laughing.

Jane leans in, peering into her friend's mouth. "Ok, yeah. Those are new. What happened?" Jane thinks Darcy is some kind of witch. Between her empathic abilities and the little spells she's managed to do on Jane or Thor's behalf, that was the assumption. 

"You know that little crystal globe thing I always wore? I thought it was my mother's but it turns out my grandmother, who wasn't really my grandmother, by the way, is a lying bitch. It was a seal she placed inside the charm and tricked me into wearing it. I smashed it."

The scientist looks incensed. "That horrible fucking witch! I knew she was awful to you but I didn't know about all that. I'm so sorry." Darcy nearly starts to cry all over again. Instead of jumping to conclusions about her monstrous new feature, her friend is comforting her because she was lied to. 

"Yeah. Don't worry, I have a friend who kind of got her in the end, but that's another story." The knowledge that the old woman didn't win, that she's free and even thriving gives Darcy courage she'd never been able to access before. "But yeah. So, it turns out I'm half-demon, half-mortal and that chick who dropped me off? She's not my cousin, she's a full-blooded demon who's here to train me. Or something."

She holds her breath. If Jane is going to freak it, it will probably be now. She's not sure what to do if Jane rejects her, or worse, doesn't believe her. 

"Fascinating. So you've got fangs? What else? Can you breathe fire, levitate? Let's do some experiments."

Raw relief floods her body. It's her turn to draw Jane into a hug and give a happy sob. "I'm a demon, not a dragon." She laughs and feels lighter than she has in years. Her best friend is going to be here for her, through it all.

"But, you know what I can do? Totally kick ass in a bar fight. Janey, I have to tell you what happened tonight, it's so badass."

Darcy regales her tale over a couple of pints of ice cream and for the rest of the night they talk. It's perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a slightly shitty note, one of my favorite authors deleted her story and entire account. I hope she's ok. T.T


	8. Deal with a Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God is dead. Unfortunately, televangelists are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for past child abuse and religious fuckery. Seriously, if you were raised in an oppressively religious home than this might trigger some bad memories.

Four weeks of being kicked, thrown and pummeled have taught Darcy a lot of things.

Muay Thai, jeet kune do and American kick boxing, respectively. She also learned that it takes her about ten minutes to heal a bruise, half an hour to close up a superficial wound, and exactly sixty-three minutes to knit her snapped collar bone back together. God, that one sucked.

Maze isn't a sadist about it, though. She gives Darcy breaks and only pushes her limits when she thinks the half-demon has mastered the last lesson. She's grateful for the instruction, as painful as it it. Every day she gets a little tougher and faster.

When she was in high school P.E. class was hell. Her bust made any kind of aerobic movement tedious. Now her body does what she tells it to. She still has to wear two sports bras, but outside of divine intervention, nothing is going to tame her tits.

She never managed to run the mile under twenty minutes and until three days ago, she'd never done a pull-up. The bullying was the worst part of high school fitness, though. The teachers in her small Christian private school cared only marginally more than her own grandmother. She suffered in silence. Now, rage fuels her. She thinks about all the times she's been put down, pushed, and harassed and it just makes her work harder.

It's impressing her teacher. 

Maze occupies an empty warehouse near the south side docks. The derelict neighborhood is great for privacy, but not much else. She suspects that Maze lives somewhere nearby but the demon is cagey and private about what she does when not kicking the shit out of Darcy and calling it combat training.

She has to leave soon to get dinner made. Hopefully, Azazel isn't skulking around. He's been in and out the past few weeks. With half of the Avengers and friends showing up at her house at all hours of the day and night she had to ask him to be a little less obvious. He said something about finding a more suitable form.

Maze laughed when she introduced them a few weeks ago. Az is a pit child. A demon born of the nightmares of other demons. It sounds kind of lurid, but Mazikeen confirmed that he wasn't the thing she's been hunting. 

The girl lays on her back, hands and feet splayed out like a starfish. She's exhausted, but it will pass in about five minutes. 

"The Boss wants me to stay on and continue your training for the next six months." Maze sits down next to her and places a cold bottle of gatorade in her hand. Darcy drinks half of it down before speaking. 

"Oh, goody." The demon pulls a crooked looked black blade from behind her back and flips it in her hand. Darcy's seen it before. She has a matching blade that she always tucks into her jacket before leaving the warehouse. 

"Are you still tracking down that demon, thing?" She hasn't mentioned it since they began. Did she find it and send the thing back to hell already? 

"I am. The creature is smart. I suspect it has a mortal host body and an ally somewhere in the city. I haven't found any messy public feedings, but I suspect an attack is coming."

Darcy sits up. "What does it want?" So far her new demon-godmother hasn't been very forthcoming about demon lore. She said Darcy should figure out her powers before learning anything else. So far she hasn't manifested anything more than super strength and stamina. 

"It wants what all creatures want. To be free to consume and reproduce." Maze pauses, looking down on the blade in her hand. "But this one is different. I might need your help."

"Excuse me, what? I'm enjoying the martial arts and acrobatics, don't get me wrong, but I am not the girl you want covering your back."

She laughs and starts tossing the blade again. "You don't have a choice. Boss says half-breeds can live among humans, you don't have to join your kin in a jail cell below. But you have to earn your keep. Sooner or later he was going to call on you to police the damned."

"I don't want to be a fucking demon wrangler I-"

Maze turns towards her, those eyes like living coals. "You want to keep playing private chef for the Avengers? You are made for much more than that. It's your duty and you might as well resign yourself to that. Asgardians and super soldiers and billionaires in toy armor can't stand before the gates and keep the rabble from overrunning the earth."

The passion in her voice makes Darcy ashamed of her own selfishness. Maybe Maze is right. She has these abilities, why not use them for good?

"What if I fail?"

The demon stands up and reaches down to help Darcy onto her feet. "Then you try again, tiefling." 

...

A little black cat is waiting for her when she gets home. It has intelligent golden yellow eyes and it sits by the door impatiently waiting for her to let it in.

"Hey there little dude. Are you homeless?" Darcy kneels down to pet the little creature. It has short stubby legs and a smooth coat. 

_"I took a form less disturbing, mistress. Do you not recognize me?"_

She laughs. "Not at first, no. But for the record, your true form doesn't disturb me, I just don't want me guests asking me questions about the living shadow hanging out in my living room."

_"A fair and practical precaution, mistress."_

"Come on, I've got some tuna that will have to do for cat food until I can go to the store."

Azazel slinks in behind her as she opens her door. He rubs against her legs and then darts in front of her towards the kitchen. Nat and Clint should be there in a few hours. They asked if Bruce could tag along and she didn't see why not. He's one of the only decent people to her from the tower and he looks like he needs more home-cooked meals.

After setting down a can of tuna for her demonic god-father Darcy starts to work on the crust for her quiche. She's going to try something a little lighter tonight and focus more on a big citrus salad. Her fingers twirl and flip the chefs' knife in her right hand as she works on dicing the carrots and red cabbage. After a while, she loses herself into the soothing repetition of prep work. 

_"The hypocrites are still peddling their book and their words."_ Azazel hops up on the counter and watches his mistress for a few moments. "You went spying on the Tabernacle of Christ assholes, why?"

_"Why not? Do you not crave vengeance?"_

Darcy sets the knife down and looks up. The kitchen in her childhood home was the backdrop to some of her worst moments, but every surface is reclaimed. She's added Halloween tea towels, a black kitchen aid mixer and bunches of dried herbs. Silver pentagrams on the wall and upside-down crosses. It's a little kitchsy but the blasphemy makes her feel like the kitchen is her own now. 

"I honestly just wanted to forget about them. They ruined my life. Hating them isn't going to take all the things they did back."

Azazel laughs. _"You are a strange demon, mistress."_

"Half demon, buddy. Half demon."

The cat rolls his yellow eyes and he begins to pace across the countertop. _"Forgiveness may be well and good, but wouldn't you like to know how they came upon all of that treasure upstairs? There's even more than that."_

Darcy takes a breath and leans over across the counter. She doesn't want to have anything to do with the church that twisted her upbringing so horribly, but what if they are doing it to other kids? How are they so incredibly wealthy?

"Fuck. Fine, tell me more."

_"I can do better than that. I'll show you..."_

Darcy follows the cat into the living room where he fiddles with the remote with his paws. The TV powers onto a local cable channel. It's a twenty-four-hour broadcast with a familiar cast of faces.

Her "aunt" Hilda with her stone grey hair and brillo thin frame. Sitting in front of a red velvet curtain on a raised dais. Next to her three other women who Eleanor Lewis introduced as her aunts, although she doubts even that now. Tammy, Belle, and Nadine. They wear the same outfit in different color schemes. A modest skirt, a high necked blouse and a cross on a golden chain. 

The four women flank a man standing behind a podium. Father Stone. The pastor of the Tabernacle of Christ. Seeing the old man and his large gnarled hands makes her knees go weak. She falls onto the couch as her stomach revolts and the memory of one of the many exorcisms she was subjected to roll like old film through her mind.

_She can't breathe. The heavy white dress her grandma made her is soaked in the freezing cold water. Father Stone won't let her come up for air. He's submerged her six, seven, eight times in the black stone baptismal font. She scratches at his wrist as she thrashes. The eight-year old thinks they really might kill her. Five women stare down at her, clouded and distorted by the water. "By the name of the father, the son, and the-"_

The television is off and Azazel is in her lap. He's a warm, purring presence, reassuring her and pressing his soft furred head against her hands. 

_"I am sorry. I did not know. I could not follow you inside the chapel. I am so sorry, mistress."_

Darcy sniffs and wipes what remains of her tears away. She snuggles up to Azazel and whispers, "You did everything you could." Darcy takes a breath, her chest shaking, throat wet. "They're televangelists now?"

_"Yes. Stone solicits money from the poor and the desperate of the city. They congregate in a large cold building near the old docks. He performs miracles and takes what meager offerings his flock may give."_

Her sadness gives way to something else. More and more, Darcy is embracing her rage. Letting her hurt and her pain turn into fury. "They are preying on the vulnerable for financial gain."

_"More than that, I believe they meddle with a foulness of a different nature, but I have no proof."_

"I have to do something."

_"Yessss. Let's lock the doors and burn them all inside!"_

Darcy sighs. "I was thinking something a little more official. Like maybe calling the police. I bet their financials are shady."

_"You wouldn't be the first to try, mistress."_

A few moments later, the doorbell goes off. 

"We'll have to plot their downfall later. I have company." It's a few more hours until her friends are supposed to arrive. 

The doorbell rings in rapid succession. Then her mystery visitor goes to town with knocking on her door. Flustered, Darcy yanks the door open and freezes.

Tony Stark is standing on her stoop. He's wearing a charcoal grey three-piece suit and red-tinted sunglasses. The billionare takes a moment to give her the elevator eyes. She's wearing black leggings with white pentacles on them, and a sweetheart black crop top. "The outfit is an improvement. You going to invite me in?"

There's a long pause. Darcy starts to laugh, it gets louder, and louder until she finally quiets down once Stark looks property disturbed. 

"Fuck you." SLAM. 

The sound of that door slamming shut is the most satisfying sound in the world. The doorbell goes for another five minutes, but she puts in her headphones and gets back to dinner.

...

Three hours later Darcy has six quiche Loraine cooling on the counter, a giant bowl of arugula salad with dried cranberries, red cabbage, and parmesan cheese, and a few bottles of good red wine. Her grandmother's ultra-lux stash of liquor is almost depleted. 

Darcy is sitting on the counter, enjoying a very full glass of the wine and eating a chunk of the crusty baguette she baked from scratch that morning. 

Once again, someone rings her doorbell. Clint texted and said he and Nat were about fifteen minutes out, and Jane was going to be half an hour late. She thinks maybe it's Bruce, because there's no more annoying knocking or doorbell smashing as she makes her way to the front door.

For the second time that day, she goes into mild shock by the person on her doorstep.

"Miss Potts?"

"Please, call me Pepper. I'm here to apologize. For Tony."

Darcy pauses and looks the woman over. She's gorgeous, with genuinely kind eyes and a sheepish smile. She motions for Pepper to come inside and leads her into the kitchen.

"For insulting me the first day he met me, or just, in general?"

Pepper takes the glass of wine Darcy pours and hands off to her with a thank you and then she sighs. "In general, mostly. But I can't lay all the blame on him. If I'd been there that day, things would have gone very differently. I am truly sorry for your experience."

It sounds like she means it. A little piece of tension and resentment she didn't know was lodged in her heart comes lose and she relaxes. 

"It's a thing, it happened in the past. I don't hold grudges." She takes a long pull of her glass and thinks back to the look on Steve's face the last time she saw him. Her blood flashes hot. The more time that passes, the angrier she gets about the way her soulmates treated her. "Well, not much. I might carry a few grudges. I have a pretty big handbag."

Pepper laughs, and then takes a breath, steadying herself. Darcy gets the feeling she's had to do this a lot, clean up after Tony's bullshit. Even as SI CEO, especially as the CEO.

"I would like to hire you, Miss Lewis. The Avengers Initiative is very well funded and equipped but they lack something vital. We can't seem to find someone to cook and handle their nutritional needs. I know you've taken to feeding some of the team already, as friends, but how would you like to do it formally?"

"Why doesn't Tony hire Gordon Ramsey or something? And call me Darcy." It's preposterous that he'd want to hire her. 

"None of the celebrity chefs will agree to signing an NDA and working full time in the tower. It's a full-time commitment. We've tried hiring some of the best caterers in the country but they are easily compromised by bad actors. It's a strange position to fill. We need someone who we trust, who is also very skilled in the kitchen."

"I'd rather fall face first on a paring knife than step foot in that tower ever again. No offense, I'm sure it's an offer most people would jump at, but I frankly don't care. Tony and those Super Soldier fucks can starve."

To her credit Pepper is neither angry, nor surprised. "You can name your salary, but I'm guessing you're not exactly in need of a steady job." She looks around, the Upper East Side townhouse was valued at 15.5 million dollars at the time her 'grandmother's' death. Pepper assumes, mostly correctly, that Darcy isn't hurting for cash.

"Did she agree yet? I think I'm getting scurvy. Oh my god, it smells like a french cafe in here. Lewis, are you French?" Somehow, Darcy manages not to smash the wine glass in her own hand. 

Stark strolls in, hands in his pockets. Azazel following on his heels, and hissing at the billionaire. "This cat is a demon. It tried to claw my eyes out when I came in."

"He's a great judge of character." Darcy deadpans. "What the fuck are you doing in my home, Stark?"

"I'm so sorry." Pepper turns from Darcy and levels a thousand-degree watt gaze of destruction at Tony. It's kind of gratifying to watch him squirm under it. "I told you not to follow me."

"I got bored." Tony turns to her, eyeing the food cooling on the counter behind her. "Listen, Lewis. I was an asshole to you and I deserved getting the door slammed in my face. But we need you. You know Foster can't make it down here every night, and you've already made friends with half the team. Somehow."

Azazel pads over to Darcy's leg and head butts it. It distracts her for a moment, but then she has a thought.

"I have conditions."

"Fine. Name them." Tony is helping himself to some of the sliced french bread and soft butter laying out next to her. She rolls her eyes, but continues.

"One. You give me access to JARVIS. I'll need him to help me bulk order food and coordinate deliveries. Two. My salary is 200K a year, plus a thirty thousand dollar bonus because you're a bag of dicks."

Pepper snorts into her wine glass and Tony rolls his eyes. "Fine. Fine." He speaks with his mouth full, Darcy sighs.

"Finally, I want to use your legal team."

This, makes him pause. "Well- that's an interesting perk. May I ask why?"

Darcy sets her wine glass down and steadies herself. Talking about them hurts. Remembering the abuse, the threats, the isolation is ripping her apart but it's better than letting them get away with doing it to other people. 

"Have you heard of The Tabernacle of Christ?"

Tony stares off into space. She can see little screens on his red lenses, his eyes moving rapidly across images and texts. "Fundamentalist Jesus Freaks, probably bilking the elderly out of their social security checks. You want me to what, sue them for you?" He sounds interested though, and he's looking at her like he hasn't really seen her before that moment.

"I was raised in the church. They are- awful people. My grandmother, somehow, amassed all this wealth and I think yeah, it's shady. Worst than that, they hurt people. Innocent and vulnerable people. I want your private investigators, I want JARVIS to run everything he can on the founding members and Pastor Stone. I want to burn them down."

The room is still. She and Tony stare at one another for a long time. There's a recognition in his eyes that she finds kind of sad. Then he pushes it down and smiles. 

"Done. Now, can we eat? You're fucking killing me with that spread."

And just like that, Tony Stark and Pepper Potts join her for dinner with Nat, Clint, Jane, Bruce and his soulmate Scott. It's crowded, but there's just enough. Enough food, enough wine, and plenty of space in the old townhouse.


	9. Mean Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone gets smacked in the mouth and owned in the gym.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I went on vacation and had to get on a plane for a work trip immediately afterward. Oh. I also got a kick-ass new job. So life's been good, if not a bit exhausting. 
> 
> A note on the deadlifts: Deadlifts are the 'king of exercises' for a good reason. It made sense to me to include them in a physical fitness test. Darcy's last pull is actually my lifetime PR. So, yeah, that scene was a hell of a lot of fun to write.

"I just noticed your glasses. Heh, lack thereof." Jane got up at six am and greeted Darcy at her front door with her favorite Starbucks order that morning. They took a Stark car to the Tower and walked in together. It was nice. She appreciated that Jane had taken the time to escort her to work. Despite her newfound confidence and power, the prospect of getting on the Avenger's private elevator made her queasy. 

"Don't need them anymore. I can even see in the dark." They paused at the elevator door. Pepper had sent her new security credentials late last night after dinner. Everything was supposed to be in order. It was the moment of truth. She passed her badge over the sensor and the doors chimed open.

The two women stepped into the car and Jane smiled. "That's cool." Darcy hit the call button for the 84th floor and laughed. "Yeah, it's pretty cool."

Darcy's anxiety shows on her face and for the first time in a long while, Jane notices. "Are you ok?"

She's not. Maria Hill is still going to be a pain in her ass and she doesn't know what she's going to say to her soulmates. Although she hasn't said Bucky's words yet. It occurs to her that she could just walk up to him and say anything she wanted. His information wasn't compromised by the SHIELD data dump.

But she's not going to say anything to him. The heavy sense of loss and loneliness she always felt when she thought of her soulmates hasn't changed, but there's rage too. They were supposed to be the two people who would love her unconditionally, support her, just fucking be there for her, but she didn't trust them. Or like them very much.

She knows that both men are eager to meet their soulmate. Natasha let it slip one night during dinner. Steve's let his guard down one too many times, and Bucky is just as desperate. Good. They can suffer.

"I'll be fine. Just don't want to deal with Hill." Jane hums. "She's a Regina George level mean girl, I'm sorry you had to deal with her that first day."

She shrugs, and the elevator opens. Jane walks her towards the kitchen. It's a massive open concept affair with a large central island, two industrial fridges, professional-grade ovens and a gas stovetop big enough to cook for an army.

It's bigger and newer and shinier than her own kitchen and she can't wait to start using it. It's such a joy to learn the quirks and personality of a new kitchen, and Stark's isn't going to disappoint her.

Darcy accidentally fell into cooking. At first, it was a necessity and punishment. Eleanor made her do all of the 'menial' work, but despite the old woman's intentions, Darcy enjoyed it. It was the only way she could access enough food to keep going, and it gave her a creative outlet that she was otherwise denied in the Lewis household. 

"All right. Time to get cracking. You should probably get back to the lab. Swing by around noon for lunch." Jane pauses, watches Darcy shrug off her jacket and move through the kitchen. Opening cupboards and assessing her tools. 

"I can stay for an hour or so." Darcy knows that Jane wants to get back to work, but she's still trying to make up for that day. It makes her smile. "No, I'm fine. Promise. Go, I can hear the gears in your brain grinding down and it's distracting."

Her friend smiles and goes off. They stopped for breakfast together on the way to the tower so that's one meal down for the day. "See you at noon!"  
...

A few hours later she's worked out a delivery schedule for groceries and she's got three weeks' worth of menus written. 

The half-demon is sitting at the kitchen counter. She brought her satchel and a good chunk of her cookbook collection with her that morning. The books are splayed out around her, Stark-Pad propped up on a small stack as she types out the last of her grocery lists.

It feels a little bit like college. Studying for an exam or writing a paper was just planning an order of operations. Cooking like this isn't much different. 

The kitchen already smells alive and vital. She brought her sourdough starter, and enough risen dough to bake nine loaves of bread. They sit on the kitchen counter, cooling under red and white checkered tea towels.

That's the first step. Bake some pre-made but healthy options for the team to grab and go. Everyone loves fresh-baked sourdough bread. There's a loaf cut into slices and a glass dish with room temperature butter on the counter. It's in the perfect spot for anyone to walk by and grab it as a snack.

She also had JARVIS do a quick delivery of in-season fruit. Apples and pears, mostly. It's all washed and arrayed in a bowl next to the bread. 

With the lists finished and the bulk order on it's way Darcy decides to prep for lunch. Seeing as the Avengers diet has so far consisted of takeout and Door Dash, she decides to prepare a large fresh salad with some blackened Ahi tuna to go on top.

Lunch is a few hours off, but she can finish washing, cutting and chopping the salad fixings at least. After that she might wonder down to Jane's lab to keep her company until she has to sear the tuna.

And that's when her afternoon goes to absolute hell.  
...

"I'm happy for you, Sam. Stop apologizing." Steve's smile is tired and pained, but his words are genuine. His friend has been practically absent since the night he and the spies exchanged words. Steve gets it. With soulmates there's usually a month-long nesting period. He'd be doing the same.

"I know but- I need to get back on the training wagon. The bedroom gymnastics aren't going to come in handy on missions." Steve grimaces but laughs through it as they both step out of the elevator. "Fine. Let's get a snack and hit the gym."

The smell that hits his senses almost plows the super soldier right into Sam. It smells like his mother's kitchen. Fresh baked bread is a powerful sense memory and he didn't realize until that moment how precious few reminders he had of his life before the serum and the ice. His eyes find the source immediately. The bread and fruit spread remind him sharply of Bucky's mother, Winnifred. She always made sure to leave bread and jam on the table for him and Bucky. Mindful to keep the skinny kid fed up because she knew his own mother struggled. 

It was the kind of thing that reminded him in a bittersweet way of unconditional love.

The sound of a knife slicing through produce slowly intrudes on his memories. For a few moments, he wonders which one of his friends and teammates managed to bake bread that smelled like the best parts of Brooklyn, but his answer was standing a few feet away, cutting lettuce.

She doesn't notice them at first. He can see that she's wearing headphones and humming to herself. Her appearance is arresting. Dark hair, red painted lips, tight black jeans and a matching black t-shirt with artful holes cut all across it. The words 'God is Dead' written across her chest. 

Her chest. Which he can't stop staring at. Christ. Sam elbows him sharply, his friend is observant enough to note the uncharacteristic reaction. Steve shakes himself out of it. He feels badly for the way he treated her last time, but he told her not to come back. She might have said his words on accident, but this is no place for a civilian. He doubles down on his conviction.

He should let Sam do the talking. Rely on his friend being personable and understanding. He's a therapist, after all. Later, he'll attribute his stubborn determination to talk to the girl himself for how it all goes down.

Steve steps to the girl and yanks out the wireless earbuds she was wearing. She whips her head up and there's a brief flash of terror and pain in her eyes. He hates seeing that look on her face. Even more so that he put it there. It makes him feel ten inches tall, knowing their past interactions and his poor behavior are to blame.

But she shouldn't be here. An even more powerful urge to get her away from the tower, out of the middle of the bullseye that is their lives takes over and he fixes a stern set to his eyes.

It'll be easy. Last time she was so terrified of him that he was able to speak his peace just fine. It seems the girl is frozen in place. Before Sam can interject, he speaks.

"I made it clear, the last time we spoke that you were not permitted on property. I'm going to have to call a security detail to escort you out. There won't be a-"

SMACK. The slap stings like hell and he honestly didn't see it coming. She's a strong little thing too, because the blow knocks his head to the side and when he turns back at her, shock written across his features the girl's fear is completely replaced by rage.

"Item one. You will NEVER lay your hands on me, or my person again. The bruise you left last time took four days to heal, douche bag." He hurt her last time, Clint was right. Shame fills every inch of his body. His face goes red and it's all he can do to keep his eyes on her pretty face.

"Bruise?" Sam asks, but he's ignored by the girl.

"Item two. Pepper Potts hired me to cook for the team, including your self-righteous ass. JARVIS, confirm."

Dutifully, the AI speaks up. "Sir and Miss. Potts have employed Miss Lewis as the Avengers nutritionist and personal chef. She has full access to the common and residential floors. Including Dr. Foster's lab. Her security credentials are in order, if you would like to check them yourself, Captain Rogers. By all means." The computer manages to sound curt and clipped. He's never known JARVIS to speak like that. At least not to him.

"I didn't know." It's the second dumbest thing out of his mouth that afternoon. 

"Right. Get the fuck out of my kitchen. You are not _permitted on premises_." Her fury is inspiring. He hasn't been dressed down like this since Peggy went to town on him for drawing all the fire in a HYDRA base raid in '44.

"Yes ma'm." His voice sounds weak. Like a little boy who's been scolded and made to swallow soap. Sam's confusion turns to humor as he waves to Darcy.

"Nice to meet you. I huh- I'm The Falcon?"

The girl laughs and it's the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard. Her face softens when she looks to Sam. "I've heard a lot about you from Clin and Nat. Nice to meet you. Would you please get this idiot out of my sight?"

Darcy motions to Steve with the knife in her hand. He'd deserve it if she stuck it right in his chest. It couldn't possibly hurt more than the sadness, longing, and regret he was struggling through. 

"I'm really-" Before he can say more Sam grips him by the shoulder and tugs towards the elevator. He could resist it if he wanted to, but he needs to get out of there. The last look she gives him is so full of spite and ire that his skin might peel off.

He probably deserves worse.  
...

Darcy waits for the men to leave before leaning forward and covering her face with her hands. She thought slapping him across the face would be more satisfying, but all she felt was sad. The terrible, inescapable tears that overwhelmed her that first day threatens to return. Shutting her eyes, she focuses on her anger. 

Anger feels powerful but it's a high that doesn't last long. It's just like putting on all-new mental armor and she's tired of protecting herself. Darcy doesn't want to spend her life angry at two people the universe thinks she was made for. It's exhausting, but she doesn't feel like there's much of a choice. 

She's just pulled herself together when Maria Hill followed by a fuming Pepper Potts enters the kitchen. Darcy steps out from the kitchen counter and crosses her arms over her chest. She's wearing four-inch stiletto heels and this time Maria's look of utter disgust just pisses her off. She can't feel the woman's emotions, but she doesn't need to. It's plainly written on her face. Along with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Darcy, you are absolutely not required to pass a physical for employment at Stak Industries," Pepper speaks before Maria can get a word in. As the CEO, Pepper's word is law, but she can tell it chafes at Maria and the two women have been arguing about this for some time that morning.

"That does beg the question. Is Darcy an employee of the Avenger's Initiative, or SI?" Maria turns to Pepper, ignoring Darcy right out. As if they were arguing over a child, below her notice.

Ok. That's it. Pepper looks ready to unleash hell when Darcy crosses over to the woman and steps directly in front of Maria. Her heels give her a height advantage.

"Do you have time right now? Let's get this over with so I can get back to making lunch."

Maria's smirk widens. "I think I can arrange that. The gym is set up for the examination." There's a pause, and Pepper in her crisp white power suit and Givenchy heels scowls at Maria. "Although whether or not she passes is irrelevant to her employment."

When Maria's sharp clicking heels exit the room Pepper turns to Darcy. "This is unacceptable. You don't have to go through with it."

Darcy shakes her head. "No. Maria is a bully and if I back down, she'll just keep coming at me. I'm tired of people like her. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"She wants to humiliate you. I don't think taking her bait is going to help matters."

"I don't intend to fail."

Darcy walks away and methodically washes her hands, when she's done she grabs the small duffel bag she brought with her workout gear. She made arrangements with Maze to switch their training to the early evenings. Although the demon grumbled about it, she relented on account of her surveillance during the day.

"I'm coming with you, for moral support." Pepper pulled out her phone and jabbed at it for a few moments. "I just need to cancel my meeting with Forbes..."

"Ok, thanks. See you in a few."

Darcy smiled and rode the elevator down to the gym on the 78th floor in near silence. As they exited and Darcy made her way to the locker room JARVIS announced that "Dr. Foster is on her way, I took the liberty of informing her of the situation."

"Thanks JARVIS." 

...

Steve and Sam are messing around on the mat. He watches and tries not to critique the movements. Doesn't want catalog Wilson's weaknesses, tells himself he doesn't need to know them. Natalia is around somewhere, skulking like a ginger cat. He hates that she can still get the drop on him, even now. In the bright, airy gym. 

He can't play fight with the others. You don't spar with the Winter Soldier, and there's still just enough of that thing inside of him that he won't even go toe to toe with Steve. He'll take exception to a punching bag, but Bucky only raises his fists in anger on missions. He's here today to run himself ragged on the indoor track, but Hill has commandeered it for something. 

Looking for anything to keep his attention, he watches the three SHIELD agents assemble the obstacle course in the center of the gymnasium. The Avengers gym resides on the 80th and 81st floors. The entire 80th floor is one giant flat surface. There's a track that runs the circumference of the floor plan, and in the middle, they set up obstacles and TRX equipment for calisthenics. 

It looks familiar, their setup. He's seen Hill running some of the junior agents through their paces. Maybe she's clearing a new security cadet?

There's movement behind him and to the right. He turns in time to see her. That dark-haired beauty Steve was going on about not ten minutes ago. She slapped him, and Christ, he admires a woman with that much gumption. 

She looks different than the last time he saw her. That dark hair is pilled up at the top of her head in a riotous mass, she's wearing a strappy sports bra with crisscrossing bands that look like an upside-down pentacle. Those thick, frankly distracting legs are capped off by a devilishly short pair of red shorts. The band rides high against her waist and it emphasizes the already considerable curve of her thighs and hips.

Jesus, he would have carried a torch for the girl back in the day. She looks like she stepped off the nose of a war-bird. He knows it's not PC, and he shouldn't think it, but goddamn, she looks the way a woman should look. Soft and gripable. 

She barrels right past him and doesn't seem to notice where he sits against the wall. Her stride is confident, maybe even a little angry. The view from behind doesn't disappoint him, though. Suddenly his interest in Hill's antics tick up as she approaches the ex-SHIELD agent. 

Steve pauses, so distracted that Wilson manages to land a knee into the soldiers gut, but he barely reacts. He looks up intime to see Nat, leaning against the rail of the second story where the free weights and machines are kept. She's smilling, that cat-got-the-cream smile of hers that means someone's made a grave miscalculation.

Well shit, now he's really curious.   
...

Of course, Steve Rogers would be using the gym too, and of fucking course, Bucky Ass-Face Barnes siddles up next to him with Sam on the outer perimeter of the gym. She can see eyes on her as she crosses the floor. Her new converse low tops padding silently forward. 

Maria Hill changed into a pair of SHIELD issue track pants and a blue t-shirt. There are three mountainous men at her side, wearing identical SHIELD gear. They look like ex-Marines on growth hormones. Behind them, she sees a deadlift platform and an obstacle course that looks like something out of Ninja Warrior. 

It intimidates her for a split second. Her soulmates are there, hell, she can hear Thor loudly boasting about her up on the second story to Clint. For a moment she breaks concentration and looks up to see Pepper and Jane next to him. Staring down at her with nothing but support.

"Is this a physical, or am I trying out for a game show?" She knows what her body is capable of doing, so why is she so terrified?

Hill cradles a Starpad and a stopwatch in her hands. She already looks self-satisfied and triumphant. Some of Darcy's nerves evaporate with the desire to wipe that smirk off of her face.

"This is the standard SHIELD physical fitness assessment. All new agents undergo three trials. We will test your aerobic abilities by timing your one-mile run. Then you'll complete the obstacle course in no less than four minutes. After that, you will four warm-up pulls, and three attempts deadlift your body weight. Finally, Agent Porter will test your hand-hand skills. You'll need to pin him to the mat to pass."

It's all absolutely ridiculous. SHIELD takes Seal special ops and former CIA agents as cadets. People who are used to this kind of physical activity. It's obviously designed to humiliate her.

She can hear Jane snarl from the peanut gallery, everyone watching this display expects her to fail. There's no way an untrained civilian could pull this off, let alone do it without looking like a total jackass.

"When you fail to pass the exam, I will require that you attend mandatory training at 6 am, three times a week until you are able to complete the tests." Ah. Maria can't make it contingent upon her employment, but she's going to try to sweat her out. Make her time in the tower unbearable until she gives up and quits. 

Darcy calmly walks over to the track, stretching her hands above her head. "Cool, I don't get up that early, so let's get this over with. There's a pint of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer I want to get to."

Maria looks like her words affirm everything she suspects about Darcy's body. Lazy, weak, soft. Let her think that.

"Five laps equals one mile. On your mark."

Darcy crouches, her body remembering what it is. Muscles contracting with the knowledge of fire and flight. Maria blows her whistle and Darcy takes off. 

The room is dead silent, the only sound is the pounding of her feet and her slight breathing. She's fast. Beneath the softness of her thighs and the gentle roundness of her belly muscles churn like the heart of a star. When Darcy finishes her fifth lap she's breathing heavy for effect, but not sweating very much.

That silence stretches as Maria looks down at her stopwatch as if she can neither believe what she's seen, or the piece of electronics in her hand.

"What was my time?"

"Four minutes." 

"Cool, what's your record?"

Before Maria can answer, Natasha calls from the balcony. "Four minutes and thirteen seconds." The spy grins down at the agent as Darcy moves over to the obstacle course.

"You can rest-" It's Steve, from the sidelines. His voice sounds cautious, but she cuts him right off.

"You can shut your fucking mouth, Captain Douche-Canoe." He snaps his mouth shut and Bucky raises an eyebrow, looking over to his soulmate and grinning.

Darcy cracks her neck and steps up to the first part of the course. There are four knotted ropes hanging from a frame. 

"Four minutes to complete the entire course? Let's make it three."

Maria hill looks halfway between confused and incredulous. She blows the whistle and Darcy hops up, making short work of the rope course, then moving onto the wide-spread monkey bars. She sprints across an unstable footbridge and hops between large padded circles until running up a steep ramp and ringing a handbell.

"Time?!"

"Two minutes, fifty-nine seconds." Hill's voice sounds hollow. There's shock, and anger beginning to bubble up.

Darcy hits the floor in a crouch and rolls to her feet. She can hear Jane clapping and the various Avengers murmuring. Is she putting on too much of a show? Probably. But she's being careful about not doing anything superhuman. 

There was a brief time in college when Darcy took up powerlifting. She couldn't afford a trainer for more than a semester, but she loved it. For the first time in her life, she felt athletic and strong, and her body size felt an advantage, not a hindrance.

So she knows the form. The platform is automated. The bar lays on the platform but she can't find any weights. "Miss Lewis, please request your desired weight and I will load the bar." Of course Tony Stark would build an automated lift. 

"Start with 135 lbs, to warm up." Maria laughs, expecting the girl to finally overestimate herself. The woman's laughter dies in her throat when she sees Darcy's form.

She steps to the bar, centers it midfoot and bends her knees. Her grip really gives away her experience. Sam whistles when he notices the curvy little thing slamming out ten warm-ups with a hook-grip. Neutral spine, perfect lock-out. 

"JARVIS, 185lbs." Darcy pauses, setting up for her next warm up. "That's my body weight, by the way." She doesn't sound even a little bit ashamed of it, either.

Five more warmup reps and Hill is getting spectacularly angry. "Ok, that's enough-"

"No. It isn't. I think you should be absolutely clear as to what my physical capabilities are, Maria." 

She pulls 250 lbs for three as her last warm-up set then looks up to Nat. "What's her record?" Without missing a beat the red-headed spy replies. "350."

Darcy looks Maria dead int he eye as she pulls 300 lbs, then 350 lbs, and finally ends at 385 lbs. Dropping the weight and stepping over it towards the other woman.

"Next."

The three roided out agents look to one another, silently reassessing their life choices. Finally, the biggest and blondest of them volunteers and walks over to the sparring mat. Darcy looks him over and then looks directly at Steve. They could be brothers.

She turns back and smiles. The whistle blows and the tall blonde agent finds himself on his back before he can brace down into a defensive posture. He hits the mat so hard that he struggles to pull in the breath he's lost. Luckily, Maze taught her how to incapacitate someone without a massive show of strength, so to Maria Hill, it just looks like Darcy knows how to fight.

When she looks back up at Steve he's beet red with his hands clasped in front of his track pants. Asshole.

"How the hell did you manage that, Lewis?" Maria stalks towards her, disdain so cold butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "There's nothing in your file indicating this kind of athletic ability." 

Darcy deftly catches the bottle of cold Gatorade that Clint tosses her from the floor above and takes a long drink before answer. "Maybe look again? I mean, a Neo-Nazis terrorist organization took over SHIELD from under your nose so really, are you surprised?"

Hill's mouth gapes like a fish. Darcy sends her some finger guns and then walks off towards the showers.

"Lunch is in an hour. Don't be late, fuckers!"


End file.
